


What the Heart Wants

by LateStarter58



Series: The House on the Beach: the Tom and Mandy Story [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Mandy has a nice, quiet life, teaching English, walking her dog and minding her own business. Then her beloved Great Aunt Dorothy dies and leaves her everything, including a house on the beach at Aldeburgh...





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was my third ever multi-chapter fic, and it contains my VERY FIRST SEX SCENE (*cringes*). I am still very fond of it for a couple of reasons: it contains characters based on real people and set in real places I adore; and it was the fic that first connected me with someone who has since become a very dear and precious friend. Thanks, Sergei Rachmaninov, THANKS SO MUCH!

I have always been an independent woman, not the type – I prefer to think - to pick up random men, on a beach or anywhere else. But then again, a little over three years ago I’d have also said that I wasn’t the kind of person who owns a holiday home on the coast and drives a classic car. And I certainly would not have said that I was the sort of woman who would wait around for a man, however sexy and charming, not knowing when he would show up next or what the future held for us. A kind of East Anglian Madame Butterfly? No, not like me at all. And yet, here I am…

If you had asked me to describe myself back then I would have said that I was a modern career woman; a not-very-well-off teacher living in a small (well, tiny) rented house with my dog Bertie, managing to just-about keep my head above water, mainly because I didn’t have time to spend too much money. Once I had finished marking or lesson preparation and the dog-walking and housework were done I just about had the time and energy for a movie on DVD. Happy enough, with good friends but no man around. I wasn’t short of offers, mind you, I just didn’t bother with any of them. But then all of a sudden, things began to change. Just goes to show you never know what’s around the corner…

‘I’m happy for you Mands, really.’ I could hear the gritted teeth down the phone line. ‘Really, you deserve it.’

My brother Trev was never a good liar but he was right, up to a point. I did deserve it more than him, anyway. Not that I believe you should visit and help an elderly relative just to get into their will, of course. I had kept in touch with Great Aunt Dotty because she was one of the kindest people I knew, and she didn’t really have anyone else. It was no hardship to make the hour and a bit’s drive north from Colchester every couple of weeks, and she really appreciated my visits. She had adored Bertie as she was a great animal lover despite the fact that she didn’t have any pets herself at the end. Bert was her substitute, part-time doggie, and she was very fond of him and he of her.

I fully expected her to leave the lot to the RSPCA, actually. She was always saying that was what she would do, or something like that, anyway. So it came as something of a shock when the solicitor told me that she had, in fact, left everything to me: her ancient car, her jewellery, her house by the coast and several thousand in the bank and building society. A very pleasant shock, mind; I had always coveted that house if only for its location just on the northern edge of Aldeburgh, right on the road that runs parallel to the beach. Quiet but not isolated, and just a few steps from the sea; the perfect place to relax.

 The first time I went up there after the funeral, I sat in the car for quite a long time, just thinking about Dotty. She had been so kind to me after Mum died, inviting me up to stay and doing all the things she thought I would miss, like knitting me woollies, baking me cakes and cooking me stew and dumplings. She put me up in the university holidays after Trevor had moved from our mother’s old house with his wife and I didn’t really have a home any more, and helped me when I was struggling in my first teaching job. So it was only right, when her health began to fail in her late eighties, that I should return the compliment. As I said, it was no hardship. She had been a successful barrister and was great company, not at all boring or out of touch.

She was always teasing me about my non-existent love-life, mentioning the grandsons of her friends and neighbours, that sort of thing. One of the last things she had said to me was ‘Don’t miss out on love, Amanda. It will come, probably when you least expect it. But don’t give up!’ I cried a little, still sitting in the car, remembering this. As I had told the tiny funeral congregation in my eulogy, Dorothy was engaged in 1940 to a pilot who was killed in the Battle of Britain. She never got over it, never looked at another man. I think in later life she regretted this, but as she often said ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’. In contrast, my celibacy was not voluntary; I just couldn’t seem to meet anyone I wanted to go out with. I had male friends, but nobody special. I was only in my late twenties, but looking at the house I could only imagine myself living there like Dotty, all alone.  Apart from dear Bert, of course.

Eventually I got out of the car and went inside. It wasn’t big, a bungalow with a converted loft really. Dotty’s clever idea when she bought the place was to make the top floor all one sitting-room with a view of the sea. On the ground floor there were three bedrooms, a large kitchen-diner and a bathroom. I made a survey of the conditions, although it felt disloyal to be critical. It wasn’t too bad; the windows had been replaced, the wiring done and the central heating renewed just the year before. But the bathroom needed a major update, and that was my first project. I hoped to rent the place out in the season, and it needed a lot of work if I was going to do that. I could do the decorating, but anything more would have to be done by professionals. Thanks to Dotty’s savings, I had the funds to get the kitchen renovated as well, but it would all take time. I could paint and do the garden at least, so I planned a programme of working visits.

The first time I met Tom was only a few weeks after I inherited the house. Of course, I had no idea who he was or even what his name was then. Bertie and I had arrived on the Friday evening, driving up from Essex with my tatty Skoda stuffed with paint, brushes and other decorating stuff, as well as duplicate human and dog supplies to make it a real home-from-home.  It was early September and I was really busy at work, getting to know my new students, but at the same time I needed to get away and make a start on the house. My briefcase full of English Literature marking kept glaring at me from the table, but I ignored it, for the first evening at least.

Bertie woke me early, earlier than I would have chosen. It was the first time he had stayed overnight anywhere other than my house since I adopted him, and he was a little unsettled, poor lad. He was whining by the front door when I got up, so after supervising his toilet break in the garden, I had a quick shower and took him over the road onto the beach for a pre-breakfast walk. He looked at me a few times, with the canine equivalent of a raised eyebrow; this was not normal, but then again, the sea wasn’t just across the road in central Colchester.

The beaches in that part of Suffolk aren’t wide or sandy. They consist mainly of banks of shingle, small stones and shells, with sandy patches near the waterline. As you get beyond the high tide mark, sparse vegetation begins to appear, and eventually grass and sedges. What I would come to think of as ‘my’ beach was exactly like that; when I crossed the road I hit first scrubby grass, then sea kale and yellow horned poppy, sea pea and biting stonecrop gaining a toehold in the stones. I paused and looked toward the water’s edge. Waders were running up and down the beach with the waves: dunlin, sanderlings and plovers grabbing a morsel where they could. I sighed happily. This was the dream.

I was still keeping the dog on a lead all the time then. Bertie is a lurcher, not as big as a greyhound but that shape, with a rough white and tan coat, a whippet cross they think (as he came to the refuge as a stray nobody knows his background) so he is supposed to be prone to chasing things. In fact, I was to learn that Bertie would much rather be chased than do the chasing… except when it comes to joggers. He loves to run above all, and if a human runs with him, well, he is in heaven. I had noticed this tendency in Castle Park back home, so I was on alert when I saw the man running towards us from the town. I thought it would be fine, but as he passed going in the opposite direction, Bertie suddenly jerked to one side and I lost my hold on the leash.

The jogger was going quite fast but Bertie caught him up in a few strides, running happily beside him and totally ignoring my calls. I started after them but I was no match for their speed. The man, tall and lithe in his dark grey hoodie and trousers, glanced back at me a couple of times, then stopped and called Bertie to him. When I eventually caught them up I was puffing like a steam engine and they were getting to know each other.

‘I am so sorry!’ I managed when I was able to speak, ‘He got away from me and I think he wants to run with people! I haven’t had him long.’

‘That’s fine, I’m used to being chased by dogs in London,’ the jogger said, handing me the lead. His voice was liquid chocolate. ‘He seems like a nice chap, don’t you Bertie?’

He’d heard me calling then. I laughed, looking at the man who, it turned out, was gorgeous. I could see some blonde curls peeping out of his hood.

‘He’s lovely, but when it comes to running…’

He laughed too, a funny ‘Eheheh’ sound, as he stood up. He was _very_ tall, over six feet. I felt more than a frisson of attraction. This was the first guy I had liked the look of in years.

‘Thanks for catching him for me, sorry again!’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, smiling the most dazzling smile I had ever seen. I felt my insides melting and then with a wave he was gone, off towards Thorpeness, stretching his long legs. I watched his figure getting smaller with a sinking heart. I patted Bertie. ‘Next time, keep a hold on him.’ I whispered in his one floppy ear, getting a slobbery kiss for my pains.

You have probably guessed that Bertie and I were out the next morning at the same time, but no, I was not lucky enough to see him again. Not that day.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the cinema brings a shock, but then Bertie takes things into his own paws,

I wasn’t able to visit the house for the first couple of weeks in October because the bathroom fitters were in situ and it was uninhabitable until they had finished. Dotty’s kind neighbour, now mine I suppose, kept an eye on the workmen for me. Jim was a retired London cabbie, a divorcé, and I have to admit I could see why. He was well-meaning but deeply dull; his only topic of conversation was himself and what he had done or was going to do. But I did my best to be patient: listening to him drone on was a small price to pay for the help he offered. He kept a general watch on the house when I was in Colchester and let workmen in as needed.

It was Jim who told me about the garage in Leiston who, he thought, might be able to service Dotty’s old car. It was a Gilbern GT 1800, red and beautiful, and pretty rare. She had bought it new in the sixties and somehow kept it and used it all that time. It was so typical of her to be different from the herd. I like cars, but I had never seen another like it, and now it was my responsibility I wanted to look after it properly.  I had driven it a few times and decided I would use it when I stayed up there. Apparently the guy in Leiston knew his stuff, because when I rang him for a chat he was familiar with the car as he had serviced it before. That sealed the deal.

When I was able to return to Aldeburgh for a proper stay, the pre-breakfast walk became a ritual for Bertie and me, not because I still hoped to see the jogger again, but just because we could. Every morning we woke up at the house, the two of us would cross the road and walk along the edge of the sea. Usually we had the beach to ourselves that early, and it suited me. I hadn’t forgotten the man, just assumed he was a holiday-maker back in his London life. In fact, I did see him again in early October, but not in Aldeburgh.

My friend and colleague Megan and I were keen patrons of the Ipswich Film Theatre, our nearest independent cinema. As she taught Film Studies it was almost like work for her, research certainly, and for me it was a chance to get out, my one regular indulgence. We tried to go at least once a fortnight and more often if the programme appealed.  One evening just before the half-term break, we were there to see Joanna Hogg’s latest, _Archipelago_. I hadn’t seen her first film, _Unrelated_ , but Megan had and thought her work would be right up my street. She was correct as it turned out, but the first thing I noticed was that the young man getting off the helicopter was _my jogger_. I nearly stood up I was so shocked.

‘What’s the matter Mandy?’ Megan had noticed my agitation.

‘That’s him!’ I whispered as loudly as I dare, ‘The man from the beach. The one Bertie chased!’

Megan looked at the screen. ‘Tasty!’ she said, nudging me in the ribs. ‘He was in ‘ _Unrelated’_ as well.’

I shrugged. It seemed academic; there wasn’t much likelihood of seeing him again. At least I knew his name now, ‘Tom Hiddleston’ the closing credits said. I resolved to google him when I got home. When I did I realised why he was in Aldeburgh; his mother lived nearby. So there was some hope I might bump into him again, but I decided not to hold my breath. From the look of IMDB, he was very busy. He had made a movie with Kenneth Branagh, based on the Thor comics. I had heard students talking about it at College and it seemed a world away from _Archipelago._ I was intrigued; I hated to be categorised as well. And he appeared to be on the brink of stardom.

I spent nearly of all of the October half-term holiday at the house. The new bathroom was fabulous, though I say it myself. I had replaced the old suite with a wet room, so that I could offer accommodation to clients with mobility difficulties. There was already a stair-lift and an accessible entrance for Dotty’s needs. It was a sensible investment, I thought, and the walk-in shower and beautiful fittings made my visits even more enjoyable. I had begun work on redecorating the sitting room before the hiatus so the plan was to finish that and make some decisions about the kitchen renovation during the week I was there. Of course, things rarely go 100% to plan, especially in my life.

The weekend was uneventful, but on Monday things took a surreal turn. Bertie and I went out for our regular morning walk. No longer pre-breakfast as the sun was coming up too late for that, but still the first order of the day. I was able to let him run now, although I had to keep a watch out for dogs and joggers. Bert liked other dogs mostly, but he tended to run away from them (in an attempt to be chased), and the road was very close by. I was monitoring the approach of a pair of Labradors when a jogger passed me. He looked at me as he did so and smiled. My heart leapt: it was _my_ jogger, Tom the actor. Unfortunately (it could be said, but not by me), Bertie chose this moment to run up to us and trip Tom up.

In fact Tom fell gracefully and rolled like a stuntman; I would have gone down like a sack of potatoes. However, it was immediately obvious that he had hurt himself because I could see blood seeping through his trousers. Apparently his knee had landed on a sharp stone. Inwardly thanking whatever deities I could think of, I grasped the opportunity with both hands.

‘Oh no! Bertie seems to have it in for you!’ Tom was looking at his knee and bending it gingerly ‘Look, my house is just over there,’ I said. ‘Come over and let’s get that cleaned up at least.’

He accepted my offer and calling my now even-better-than-ever best friend to put him on the lead, I led them both over the shingle banks and into my house.

Fortunately I had remembered to provide myself with first aid supplies and I put a large plaster over Tom’s cut after cleaning it, causing a lot of wincing. Men – such babies! A little later we were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and chatting, Bertie under Tom’s chair. Now I had the chance to have a really good look at him and my, he was fine! Those eyes, which I hadn’t really noticed before, so blue and intense. His hair was shorter than in the film, but it was the cheekbones which I couldn’t stop looking at. I really wanted to touch them, but that might have seemed a little creepy, so I behaved myself. His face was so expressive and animated. We were laughing much of the time and he could laugh for England, throwing his head back, his entire body taking part, his chair tipping. His hands too, they were never still, large with long artistic fingers. I kept losing my thread.

I confessed early on that I had discovered who he was; it made things more comfortable. When he learned that I taught English Literature at a Sixth Form College we spent about twenty minutes just exchanging Shakespearean quotations – one of my favourite pastimes. He seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the plays, better than mine anyway, but I mostly held my own. And to hear the verse spoken so beautifully, in that luscious voice was heavenly. He told me he was playing Henry V and Hal in new TV adaptations of the Henrys and I was impressed. I had heard about the project and here was the star, at my table! He wasn’t boastful, and seemed genuinely amazed at his good fortune in working with such great people, including - I eventually dragged out of him – Steven Spielberg and Woody Allen.

Although the attraction had been physical at first, now I had spent time with him I found myself thinking that here was the perfect man. Me and millions of others, of course…  He was so easy to be with and talk to that I ended up telling him all about Dotty and the house and my plans for it. I even showed him the Gilbern. I was aware that I was babbling because I wanted to prolong his stay as much as possible. But eventually I ran out of reasons to keep him captive, and he explained he had to get back to his family. He dismissed my repeated apology for Bertie’s unprovoked attack.

‘Not at all. It’s been lovely. Thanks for the coffee.’

Once again he waved goodbye to me and disappeared along the beach back towards Aldeburgh. I watched him go, staying by the gate until I could no longer see him. Just my luck. I find the man of my dreams and he lives in London, works all over the world and isn’t interested anyway.

‘Well Dotty,’ I said softly, ‘What do you think I should do now?’


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world turns, Mandy settles into a routine, redecorating the house and accepting that Tom is busy being famous. But then Spring brings a fresh start and an invitation.

It was getting on for six months before I saw Tom again, in the flesh that is. Despite my better judgement I had steadily built up a collection of his film and TV work on DVD, what was available anyway and of course I went to see _Thor_ , more than once. I tortured myself by watching him on lonely evenings, usually with wine and/or chocolate to comfort me, Bertie stretching and yawning theatrically when he decided I should go to bed.

Work on the house was progressing well, with the kitchen company completing the renovation in January. I could see I was going to miss the holiday rental deadline for that year, but I didn’t mind too much. It took the pressure off and meant I would be able to enjoy the use of the place myself in the summer.  My life had taken on a new rhythm over the past months. Weekdays had one pattern, the weekends another very different one. Monday to Friday I would walk Bertie, make the five-minute walk to work, teach, chat with colleagues in the workroom or staffroom, nip home for lunch to let Bertie out for a pee, then back again to finish the College day. The gym twice a week or so, walks with Bert before dark, the occasional cinema trip with Megan. Evenings were mostly spent doing as much work as possible so that my weekends were free.

On Friday afternoons I would pack the car and the two of us would set off up the A12 to freedom. It was strange that despite the amount of work and the obligation I felt to maintain the house, garden and even the car in Dotty’s memory, it never felt like a burden of any kind. I was a different person when I was there, able to leave my cares behind in Essex. While in Aldeburgh, my time was spent on practical things, and I rarely even took a book to read in those early months. Usually I was so tired that I could just about manage a film or an evening’s TV. Tired, but happy.

I got to know the town in that autumn, winter and spring even better than before, spending nearly every weekend there as I did. It had all the shops you needed for day-to-day supplies, and it was always a pleasure to walk in with Bertie on Saturday morning for my fresh food and bread. The buildings are nearly all old, in a wonderful mix of colours and styles, mostly well-preserved. Aldeburgh was, for centuries, a simple fishing village and although it is much more of a holiday destination nowadays, there are still fishermen who sell their catches from little huts on the beach. I often buy prawns or other seafood for my lunch, before walking homewards along the shore. During the months I didn’t see him I would allow myself to hope that one day a tall handsome jogger would pass me as I wended my way back. Of course, he never did.

Then one Saturday morning in March I was weeding out front. Dotty had employed a gardener, but that was beyond my means. Fortunately, he had left things in good order so I was able to keep the flowerbeds in reasonable shape. I had to grass over the vegetable patch because I just didn’t have time for it, and Bertie tore up the lawn by running around in tighter and tighter circles when he got excited, but mostly it looked OK. I was listening to Radio 4 on my little portable while I worked when I heard a familiar voice from above.

‘Hello again.’

I looked up to see Tom peering over the fence at me, smiling. It was a fresh morning and my nose was running in the chilly wind. I quickly wiped the back of my hand across my upper lip, hoping I didn’t look a complete fright. He wasn’t in his tracksuit this time, but a black leather jacket and jeans. Instead of his former blond he had dark red curls which he was running his hand through. I stood up, brushing myself down.

‘Long time, no see,’ I said.  A pained expression crossed his face.

‘Yes, sorry, I, er… I’ve been all over the place working.’

‘I know, looks like fun from what the internet tells me.’ I winked, trying to undo any damage my opening remark might have done.

He laughed that funny laugh of his and I invited him in for coffee, of course. We sat at the table again while he tried to fight off Bertie, who remembered him, it seemed. At any rate, he loved Tom and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Tom complimented me on the new kitchen, and I ended up showing him round the whole place this time, as I had nearly finished everything except one bedroom. When we got back to the table he cleared his throat as he sat down.

‘So, um, I’m up here on my own, just taking a break at Mum’s place while she’s away, and I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight?’

My stomach did cartwheels and I was dumbstruck for a few moments. Which was just as well, as I might have looked a little too eager if I had said yes as quickly as I wanted to. Tom looked pleased when I accepted his offer.

‘There’s a hotel in Saxmundham with a fantastic restaurant. The chef is English but his wife is French,’ he told me. I nodded. I knew the place; I had already eaten there the year before with Dot. It was really good. ‘I’ve booked a table for eight, is that OK? I’ll pick you up at about seven-fifteen? Then we’ll have time for a drink in the bar first.’

I was still processing this totally unexpected turn of events when he bid me farewell until later. Then I went into a complete panic. What on earth was I going to wear? I only had a few clothes there, and as far as I could remember, all my going-out stuff was back in Colchester. I ran into my bedroom and flung open the wardrobe. Most of what I kept at the house then was scruffy gear for gardening and painting in. Happily I had packed a nice dress a few visits back, in the belief that I might eat out one weekend. That hadn’t happened – until now – but it did mean that I was saved. It was a dark blue velvet number, and I loved it. I even had a pair of decent shoes to go with it. The evenings were still chilly in March, so it would be perfect.

I cut the weeding short and spent the rest of the day preparing myself. This wasn’t likely to happen again, not in this lifetime, and I wanted to look my best. After a shower I did my hair, blow-drying my meagre dirty-blonde locks into as much volume as I could. As luck would have it, my waxing was just the week before, so no need to shave my legs. I painted my finger- and toenails, finishing with my make-up, as meticulous as I’d ever been. I decided in a moment of sentimentality to wear some of the jewellery Dotty had left me: lovely silver and sapphire drop earrings and a matching ring and necklace. They went perfectly with the dress, and I hoped that they would bring me luck. I was going to take whatever opportunities the evening offered.

As usual for me, I was ready way too early. Tom was at my door on the dot, and I had to restrain myself from opening it too quickly. I was anxious not to appear over-keen, even though my heart was doing its best to exit my chest cavity. He was utterly gorgeous, in an expensive-looking suit and smiling broadly. He was carrying a bunch of red roses which he handed to me. Now I’ve been on a few first dates, but no bloke ever gave me flowers before.  I will admit I was speechless, especially as I had persuaded myself over the course of the afternoon that this was going to be purely platonic. I quickly put them in water and then joined him on the doorstep.

‘Your carriage awaits, my dear,’ he said, grandly gesturing towards his car. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. I tried not to swoon like a Victorian lady with a fit of the vapours, but he wasn’t making it easy. I said goodbye to Bertie, who had flopped down in his bed in the hallway with a resigned sigh, and locked the door. Tom opened the passenger door for me - another first – and we set off for Saxmundham, a short drive north-west.

Dinner was a dream. The hotel is in a grand Victorian building and the restaurant is in a beautiful, bright, high-ceilinged room.  The food was excellent and the service top-notch French-style, and of course the view across the table unequalled. We talked about so much: university days, Shakespeare of course, my work (boring), his work (exciting), dogs and how to train them – oops! - and about life in general. I felt the room tilt a little when Tom reached out and took my hand while we were talking about families and I told him my father left us long ago and that Mum died when I was 17. Apart from the kiss on my knuckles, it was our first contact, and I felt something. I was afraid I was over-interpreting, but he looked at me with such kindness and I was sure his gaze lingered just a little longer than necessary as our eyes met. In fact it was me who broke eye-contact, a bit overwhelmed. I would happily have jumped his bones right there, just swept the plates and glasses off the table and ripped that oh-so-tight white shirt clean off his back. Total lies, of course. I have never been that bold, and in any case I still didn’t know what this was. But the image did cross my mind.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go home, and things get steamy in the drizzle.

Light drizzle was falling as we left the restaurant, and Tom held my hand as we hurried round the corner of the hotel onto the side street where the car was parked. But before we left the shelter of the building, he suddenly pressed me up against the wall and kissed me. It was so unexpected whilst simultaneously being exactly what I wanted that I just reacted instinctively, not questioning or even worrying about it. I simply kissed him back and enjoyed the ride, running my fingers through his hair and caressing those cheekbones at last. We paused for breath and he looked into my eyes.

‘Sorry about that. I just had to. You look so beautiful tonight.’

Before I could respond he kissed me again, deeper, more passionately, pressing his body against mine. I pressed back and I could feel his arousal; it was on a par with my own. I glanced over towards the car and he nodded, pulling me towards it. The drive back to Aldeburgh seemed much longer than normal and the atmosphere was a world away from our outward journey. Neither of us spoke, words didn’t seem necessary. His hand rested on my thigh and I was aware of little else apart from the pounding of my pulse in my ears. We both knew what was going to happen. I didn’t waste any time pondering the wisdom of my actions; he was in every way the most attractive man I’d ever met and he wanted to fuck me. That was enough for tonight.

When we reached my house the excitement of the moment was delayed slightly by the obligations of dog-ownership: Bertie had to be let out and then settled for the night. While he pottered in the garden Tom lifted me onto my fancy new kitchen worktop and kissed and licked his way down my neck, driving me mad with desire, while his hands ran up inside my dress and his fingers brushed over the front my knickers, making me shudder. Bertie scratched at the door to be let in, then groaned and sighed as he flopped back into his bed; he expected attention and was being ignored. Duty done, I led Tom to my bedroom.

I had left the bedside lights on as I often did; it made me feel less alone. Tonight it added to the seductive atmosphere. Tom shut the door behind us and caught me around the waist, pulling me back against him. I felt him kiss and nibble my neck again and gasped. As he worked his way along my shoulder, I was aware of a hand inside my knickers then my knees buckled as a long finger slipped along my very wet folds and inside me.  I felt him smile against my burning skin and he pressed the palm of his hand against my clit. My hips rocked up to meet the pressure and he chuckled softly into my flesh.

Not wanting to wait any longer to see if his body looked as good as it felt through his clothes, I turned to face hm. Our mouths met with force, almost desperation, and as his tongue ran along my lip I opened up to him. I was undoing the buttons on his shirt but my fingers couldn’t work fast enough for my liking. He had an easier time as my dress lifted over my head in one swift movement from his long arms. We threw the unwanted garments aside and I started on his belt, drawing a hiss from him. Before I could finish he pushed mebackonto the bed and again his lips were on me, kissing a trail from my collarbones to my breasts.

My head was spinning. It was as if my fantasies were coming true except this was better than any dream. I arched my back to allow him to unfasten my bra. ‘God, you are beautiful,’ he murmured, kissing one breast while caressing the other with his hand. He sucked the nipple gently then ran his teeth over it, causing a shudder to run through me. I had never been so turned on, and it was only getting better. He moved lower, moaning into my skin between kisses, licks and bites and began to tug at my lacy knickers.

This is where my memory gets hazy. I remember his lips and teeth on me, but not the order or detail. I recall the roughness of his beard contrasting with the warm wetness of his tongue. I know only that I had never had a better orgasm, and never one at all with a new lover. He made me crazy with the pleasure he gave and it went on and on until I lost all sense of myself or time or anything except what he was making me feel. I was gripping the bedding, writhing and groaning like an animal, out of control.

Eventually I regained enough composure to grab a handful of his hair and I pulled him up my body before I passed out altogether. He grinned as he reached my lips and kissed me deeply, letting me taste my own orgasm. He was pulling a packet out of his pocket.

‘I have an implant, so…’I told him, and he tossed it away and then wriggled out of his remaining clothes. Before I could say anything else he was kneeling between my thighs and lining his impressive erection up with my entrance. I took the initiative by grabbing his beautiful arse with one hand and his cock with the other, pulling him towards me, wrapping my legs around his waist. I couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he, apparently; he plunged in to the hilt.

The size of him took my breath away, making my eyes fly open. He was watching my face closely, evidently waiting to see if it was alright for him to move inside me. I rocked my hips and tightened my legs around him. I kissed him again, running my tongue over his. He moaned with pleasure and began to thrust slowly in and out of me. I had never been so stretched, so filled and it was wonderful. I felt another orgasm building; this was unprecedented. Men had rarely made me come, never on the first occasion and never more than once. But this was unlike any previous experience. Tom shifted his position slightly and tilted my hips up. Now he was rubbing that special place with every thrust and I was on my way.

‘Don’t stop, Tom, please…’I begged, and he increased the urgency of his movements, sending me over the top again. I could feel my muscles spasm around him and soon he joined me, his eyes rolling back and his breathing ragged. He buried his face in my neck and whispered my name. I kissed the top of his head as he nestled against my breast.

‘That was amazing,’ I said, and I meant it.

‘I know.’ He chuckled against me, the sound sending another thrill through my body. Still with his head on my chest, he spoke again. ‘Mandy, I really like you. A lot. I came up here this weekend to see you, to ask you out. I didn’t expect this to happen, not tonight anyway, but I’m not sorry it did.’ He moved up the bed and put both arms around me and nuzzled under my ear. He was soon dropping off. I took the chance to gently slide out of his embrace and slip out to the bathroom to remove my make-up; I hated the thought of waking up with it all over my face. When I got back he was asleep and I slipped in behind him and wrapped my arms around his beautiful body; soon I dozed off myself.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Mandy spend a magical Sunday in each other's company, but all good things come to an end.

The first thing I became aware of the next morning was Tom’s body against mine. We must have both turned over in the night because his arms were around me and my bottom was tight against his hips. I could feel him stirring, hardening against me.

‘Good morning darling.’ He whispered into my ear, his right hand cupping my breast, the left one on my belly and moving south.

‘Sorry, but I’m going to have to go and let Bertie out.’ I could hear the dog whining softly outside the door. The thought of getting out of bed and walking naked to where my robe was hanging daunted me, but then he had seen it all last night. My canine pal wanted to come in and see what was what in the bedroom, but I hurried him into the kitchen and outside. It was still raining so he didn’t hang about and was back indoors, shaking and grumbling within a few minutes. I filled his water bowl, gave him his breakfast and then headed back to Tom, shutting the bedroom door firmly.

When I turned around from removing my dressing gown, Tom had thrown off all the covers and was lying on his back grinning, his arms wide and his penis fully erect. I crawled up the bed and straddled his thighs. I wrapped my fingers around his considerable length and dipped to take the tip in my mouth. I was woefully inexperienced, but nevertheless Tom gasped and his head rolled back on the pillow.  My skills did not approach his, but I longed to please him and I did my best. After a while he sat up, pulled my face up to his and kissed me. I lowered myself onto him and he filled me again. It was so good. Suddenly he flipped us over and I allowed him to take charge of the rhythm once more. I was soon having my fourth or fifth orgasm in less than twelve hours; I had begun to lose count.

As we lay together afterwards, our legs entwined, Tom put his hand on my cheek and turned my face to his. He took a deep breath.

 ‘Mandy, I think you are something special. I’ve wanted to ask you out since that day Bertie tripped me over, but I was about to start _The Hollow Crown,_ then I had another film, and loads of promotion to do. I felt that it wouldn’t have been fair, much as I wanted to. But then, when I knew I could get away this weekend, I decided to go for it. I was so happy when I saw you in the garden yesterday.’ He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. ‘My career is really taking off. My time is pretty full for at least the next two years, and after that, who knows? I’m leaving for America in a week or so, for five months at least. Things are going incredibly well for me right now, but it means that I can’t commit to anything even if I want to. My life is so crazy. I can’t promise you anything. I wish we could get to know each other better, like normal people…’ He looked at me again, and I saw what looked like tears. I struggled to understand what he was saying.

‘It’s alright Tom, I don’t expect you to marry me,’ I joked. He looked pained, and I immediately regretted saying it. ‘Look,’ I said quickly, ‘I really like you too. I understand.’ I caught his hand in mine and kissed it. ‘Let’s just enjoy each other and see what happens, shall we?’

I rolled towards him and brought my mouth to his. I couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, touching him. Soon he was hard again and we made love yet another time. I was getting a little sore but that didn’t stop me; Tom’s words had made me want to make the most of every moment we had together. We showered and after breakfast he drove back to his mother’s home for a change of clothes. Later I walked Bertie along the beach while Tom took his daily run. I had to stop Bert going with him; I think my dog thought it was Christmas and birthday all rolled into one. It was for me.

After a second shower Tom suggested that as the weather was better we should walk up to Thorpeness and go on the Mere. I hadn’t been on it for years. My uncle Bob sometimes rowed my cousins and me around and I had happy memories of time spent pretending to be pirates or explorers on the many wooded islands in the man-made lake. I had not returned as an adult until that day. I’m not very good in boats in general, but Tom had been the oarsman before and took charge. We spent a happy couple of hours tootling around, laughing and kissing and sometimes just looking at each other.  Neither of us wanted to talk about the end of the day, which would mean our inevitable parting. I had to return to Colchester, he to London.

We walked back to the house slowly, hand in hand. I prepared a meal and we ate in near-silence. Heaviness hung in the air between us. We had both said how we felt, but we knew that it might be months before we could be together again. I started to clear away the dishes but Tom took me in his arms and kissed me. He lifted me on the counter as he had the night before and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pushed my panties to one side and entered me once more. It was different this time, slow and gentle. After he came, Tom stayed still for a long time, just holding me tightly, kissing my mouth and neck.

‘Tom,’ I whispered after a few minutes. ‘We have to get moving darling.’ I had to pack up and head back to Colchester and the real world. Reluctantly he pulled away from me and lifted me back down onto my feet. It became obvious that he wasn’t going to leave until I did, so I went about my usual routine of closing up the house for the week and collecting everything I needed to take home. Once I had packed my bag with my iPod, iPad, chargers and all the perishable foods I put Bertie in the car and locked up.

Tom had watched my activity wordlessly, and now we stood in the hall looking at each other. I was near to tears and he looked utterly miserable. We held each other for a long time.

‘You shouldn’t wait for me,’ he said at last.

’Maybe not,’ I replied, ‘but I don’t want anyone else, so I will.’

I locked the front door and we walked together up the path. I got into my car and it was his turn to watch me disappear up the road. I looked back in the rear-view mirror a few times until the house, his car and Tom were all out of sight. I had his phone number, his address in London and his email, but I had never felt lonelier in my life. The trip back to north Essex was excruciating. Before we reached the main A12 road south I pulled over to plug my iPod into the hi-fi, and Rachmaninov flooded out of the speakers. His Piano Concerto No2, second movement; beautiful, sad and on that occasion unbearably poignant. It was to become, for me anyway, our ‘song’.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy struggles with her normal life without Tom.

‘Can you spare me few minutes during Period 4 today, Mandy?’ Rachel asked on Thursday morning after Staff ‘shout’, our daily meeting. The Head of Department didn’t often need to see us one-on-one, so my immediate thought was that I was in trouble, a complaint perhaps. Curricular matters are dealt with by the Head of Subject, career development interviews are scheduled and most other things are discussed as a group. So I was rather nervous when I approached her office after morning break.

‘Come in and shut the door. Sit down.’ _Oh jeez, it is serious._ ‘Don’t look so worried, it’s OK. I’m just a little concerned. You don’t seem your normal self lately.’

Rachel’s kind brown eyes were examining my face. She was right, of course. Ever since that horrible Sunday evening drive back from Aldeburgh I had been distracted, absent to some degree. I hadn’t been neglecting my work, I hoped not anyway, but emotionally I wasn’t really present. Megan had noticed, but I had brushed off her questions.

‘Is something wrong? You do know, I hope, that you can tell me anything.’ She put a hand on my arm. Rachel was the best, kindest boss you can imagine, but so far I had told no-one about Tom. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of what had happened, I just felt as if it should be kept between us.

‘I’m OK, really. I’ve met someone, and…’ I looked around her light, airy office. I had no idea what to tell her. I didn’t know when I would see Tom again, although he had texted me nearly every day. I had begun to live for the arrival of those messages; short, long, sometimes with links to music or poetry, occasionally with a photo of where he was. I felt tears building and shook them away. ‘He lives and works away; we can’t see each other much.’ _Had it really only been four days?_ I took a deep breath. ‘I miss him.’ The tears returned and I couldn’t stop them this time.

Rachel put her arms around me and hugged. She just let me cry, she didn’t ask any more questions and I was grateful for that. When I had recovered I asked her not to tell anyone else.

‘I’m sorry, Rachel, I’ll try to get a grip.’

‘Don’t be silly. I understand.’ She smiled kindly. ‘Just remember I’m here for you, if you need anything.’

The only other person sort-of at work in whom I had confided was Maggie, the no-nonsense College nurse. She also worked shifts at the walk-in medical centre in town and by chance she was on duty there when, the day after I returned home, I began to get the early symptoms of a bladder infection.

‘You know what the most common cause of that is,’ she joked, tapping on the computer, and when she turned back to me I was bright red and near to tears. ‘Oh sweetheart, I didn’t mean to upset you! Is everything alright, hen?’  I explained the situation and she prescribed drugs to clear the cystitis up.

‘I should be fine now,’ I told her ‘There’s no prospect of anymore sex in the near future.’

‘Well Mandy, you know when I’m in College and where to find me, ‘she said kindly. Her husband was in Afghanistan with the Army, so Maggie knew a thing or two about separation.

Following the conversation with Rachel I made a big effort to behave more ‘normally’ and it helped, in fact. Just allowing everyday life to distract me was comforting. I still jumped when my phone vibrated but I felt less detached from my friends and colleagues. I began to take more time to engage with my students again, but building those relationships can be a double-edged sword. If students get too fond of you they can be adversely affected if you have your own problems.

Over the two years I had been at the College I had enjoyed teaching my groups on the whole. There were tricky characters of course, and those who didn’t want to put in the necessary work. But that was more than made up for by those young men and women truly in love with the subject, and even more so by those who blossom in the two or three years they spend with us, extending their academic skills or discovering new passions. I had a difficult lad in one of my AS classes who pretended to be uninterested in everything during lessons but who wrote beautiful essays. I suspected he had a crush on me (it happens) and he convinced me when he blew his top during a lesson the Tuesday after my meeting with Rachel. I managed to calm him down in the corridor outside but it left me feeling a bit shaken.  

I had been trying to stick to my normal routines and Tuesday was a gym day, mainly because I didn’t teach last period, so I could get away at around 3.30. Tom knew where I was going and my phone chimed as I walked along the Colne towards the Leisure Centre.

**_On your way? Tx_ **

**_Yes, of course. It’s sunny for a change. What r u doing? Mx_ **

**_Not much. Learning lines, drinking tea. Wishing I was in the sun with you Tx_ **

**_That would be nicer Mx_ **

This was a typical exchange, although I did notice that his location wasn’t showing, which wasn’t normal. I assumed that he had switched it off when speaking to a journalist or something.

He texted again when I was just leaving the changing room after my workout.

**_Finished? Tx_ **

**_Yep Mx_ **

**_How was it? Tx_ **

**_Dull but I listened to Ricky Gervais, so funny too Mx_ **

**_Plans? Tx_ **

**_Shower, dinner, marking. Oh the glamour! Mx_ **

**_Speak later Tx_ **

I went home and decided to walk Bertie before my shower, because my intention was to get straight into my pyjamas. It had been a tough day. I cooked and ate a quick pasta dinner and I was starting on the depressingly high pile of urgent marking when my phone went off again.  I picked it up.

**_What r u wearing? Tx_** This wasn’t an unusual question.

**_PJs. Had enough. Mx_ **

**_Bad day? Tx_ **

**_Every day without u is Mx_ **

**_Open the door Tx_ **

My heart stopped. I dropped the essay I was holding and the others on my lap fell onto the floor as I stood up and ran the few steps to the front door. When I opened it all I could see at first was a massive bunch of red roses. Then they moved to one side and the face I had been missing so much appeared, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He handed me the flowers and I took them, put them down on the chair by the door and grabbed him by the lapels of his black leather jacket. Pulling him into the room I kicked the door shut and kissed him. Bertie was jumping around, his tail wagging madly. When Tom and I paused for breath he pulled away and laughed softly.

‘Ehehehe. My bag is still on the doorstep.’

He retrieved it and I gathered up the lovely roses and put them in water. I thought to myself that I was going to have to buy some better vases. Tom looked around. My Colchester house is tiny compared to the place in Aldeburgh. The cramped and narrow living-room full of my books leads to a kitchen and bathroom out the back, with an open staircase from the main room up to two bedrooms. The floors are uneven and the ceilings and doorways are low because the building is at least 400 years old, maybe older. I could have found somewhere larger further out of town, but it’s big enough for me and really close to work. The street it is on is very narrow and sloping, only just wide enough for one car to pass. No parking allowed, so I have to keep my car on another street nearby. It is located in the ‘Dutch Quarter’, very near to where remains of the Roman walls of the town still stand. That part of Colchester has been continuously occupied since before Boudicca burned the Romans out.

‘You’ll have to mind your head here,’ I warned my tall visitor.

He nodded. ‘I can see that,’ he said, reaching the short distance up to the ceiling with his hand.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

‘I didn’t know myself until this morning and anyway, I wanted to surprise you.’

‘Tea?’

He followed me into the narrow kitchen and watched while I put the kettle on and prepared the pot. When I paused he stepped closer and kissed me again. It was everything I remembered about his kisses, everything I thought about when I was alone in my bed, or washing the dishes, or running on the treadmill and even occasionally when I was supposed to be listening to my students reading aloud. I was naked under my cotton pyjamas, and they didn’t offer much resistance to Tom’s hands which were soon inside and caressing my back. Despite our situation, there was no urgency to his actions. They were tender and loving, and I felt myself moulding against him, pressing gently against his form from head to foot. It was as if we were becoming one person, a single organism.

Regardless of the languorous pace, I could feel him getting aroused, as I was. The tea was on hold for now. His attention transferred to the front of my PJs as his thumbs brushed my nipples. I whispered that we should move because my neighbours could see across the tiny yard and into my kitchen from theirs. Taking our time, we climbed the stairs and Tom ducked carefully as we entered the bedroom. He quickly removed my flimsy nightwear. He, on the other hand, was still wearing his black cardigan, t-shirt and jeans, but I was doing my best to get them off him. Soon he was as naked as me and I was touching and kissing and caressing that skin I loved so much, rubbing myself against his beautiful long legs and then gasping for air as he made me come again and again. 

 

 


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another lovely night, but the inevitable parting is painful.

After we made love we lay side by side, just looking at each other in the dim light from the landing and the street. I ran my fingers over the cheekbones which had seduced me on the beach. I could hear Bertie scratching at the bottom of the stairs and whining softly. He wasn’t allowed on the upper floor, a rule I instigated after having to carry an aging fat and arthritic family dog upstairs as a teenager. They don’t miss what they have never had. I had to bend the rule in Aldeburgh, but he seemed to understand the difference.

‘Poor Bertie,’ said Tom. ‘Left out again, ehehehe’.

I didn’t want to, but I got up and put a robe on. I needed to see to the dog, and that tea wouldn’t make itself.

‘Chuck my bag up, would you darling?’ Tom was standing totally naked and in all his beauty at the top of my stairs. I complied and he came down moments later in jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, neither of which hid his manly charms much.  I realised that I hadn’t asked when he would be leaving.

‘How long..?’

He winced. ‘I’ll have to go first thing in the morning, but then you have to work too, right?’

I nodded, swallowing the lump which was forming in my throat. We had so little time we couldn’t waste any on tears and regrets or dreading what was to come. Tom caressed my hair, moving closer to me and kissing the top of my head. It was hard not to cry. The very fact of his presence was so overwhelming my emotions were just under the surface, threatening to break through constantly. I felt like the water in the kettle, boiling over. I clung to him, trying to calm myself. His heartbeat was fast but steady and the smell of him was like a balm. My breathing slowed and I recovered enough to make the tea at least.

We sat down on the sofa and Bert attached himself to Tom immediately, leaning in classic lurcher fashion, his head up against Tom’s arm, groaning softly (like owner, like dog). Tom tickled his chest lightly, and Bertie settled against his leg. I pulled my own legs up and leaned against him from the other side, so he couldn’t go anywhere. Then I spotted my A2 group’s mock-exam essays all over the floor to one side of me. Jumping up, I gathered them and checked that none had gone under the furniture or been chewed.

‘I really need to mark at least some of these. I’m supposed to hand them back tomorrow afternoon…’ I felt guilty, but this was the situation I was to find myself in time and again. Obligations pulling me in one direction, my heart pulling me in the other.

‘Go ahead, darling. I’ll sit here with Bert and watch.’

And so he did. I put my iPod in the dock, chose my favourite classical piano playlist and I tried to concentrate on the essays. The irony of the situation did not escape me: the theme of the unit was ‘Love Through the Ages’ and my class had all been studying a selection of texts including _Much Ado About Nothing_ and _Wuthering Heights._ The question I had given them was on an extract from _Jane Eyre._ From where I sat at the table I had to turn my head to look at Tom, but that didn’t make me any less aware of him. Apart from anything else, I could smell him on me. I was getting through the pile, slowly but steadily, but then came the killer blow: the Rachmaninov came on, the piece that had played in the car on that awful night. I started to sob. Tom was up and beside me in a second.

‘What is it, darling?’ He was crouching beside me caressing my back, his other hand on my arm. I turned to him and buried my face in his neck. I mumbled something about the music and he gently lifted me to my feet and held me tightly.

‘I know it’s silly, but this reminds me of you, of us.’

‘Silly? Not at all. It’s beautiful, romantic. It’s the _Brief Encounter_ music isn’t it?’

I nodded. ‘It was playing on my iPod on the way home that Sunday.’

Tom took a deep breath, put his hand under my chin and lifted it. Our lips met and no more marking was done that night. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The sound of my alarm is rarely welcome, but I would have cheerfully thrown the damn thing through the window that Wednesday morning. I don’t think either of us had slept much, but I did doze a little, resting my head on Tom’s firm chest and listening to his heart. We groaned in unison at the angry beeping as I leaned over and hit the button. Reluctantly I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, sighing. Before I could stand up, however, Tom’s arms were around my waist and he was nuzzling the back of my neck.

‘A few more minutes, please?’

‘I can’t. I have to walk Bertie before I go to work.’

I turned and kissed him. Leaving the room then was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. We both knew for certain that it would be months before we would see each other. No opportunities like this one would be possible, not with me here and Tom in America. After letting Bert out for a pee in the yard, I showered and dressed. Tom followed me and we ate breakfast.

‘You know it’s going to be difficult to keep in touch regularly.’ He was standing opposite me in my tiny kitchen, looking at his bowl of muesli, apparently reluctant to meet my gaze. ‘I will understand if you want to see other people. I can’t expect you to be a nun.’

I snorted. ’No danger of that darling, but there wasn’t anyone before, not for ages, and now I…’ I stopped. I didn’t want to say how I really felt, that wouldn’t be fair on him. My pause made him look up.

‘And now you what?’ His blue eyes were looking at me with such intensity that I couldn’t help but open my heart and tell him what I was feeling. All of it.

‘And now I can’t imagine I’ll ever want anyone else.’

I was struggling not to cry. Before we met I would not have believed that one could feel so deeply about a person so quickly. After all, we hadn’t spent as much as two days together yet. Tom looked at me steadily. He smiled that little half-smile of his and reached for my hand. I could see he was mulling over what to say, and it occurred to me that he was trying to find a way to let me down gently. The urge to cry became stronger, so I turned and busied myself at the sink.

Shortly afterwards Bert and I took our usual morning walk in Castle Park, except that on this occasion Tom was with us. He held my hand as we did our circuit under the bare March trees. Not much danger of him being spotted, dressed as he was in a hoodie and sunglasses against the heartlessly cheery weather. When we reached a bench we sat down and he took my other hand as well. I held my breath, expecting the worst. But I was wrong.

‘Mandy. I said to you in Aldeburgh that I think you are special. That hasn’t changed. But neither have my circumstances. I don’t want to fuck up your life. It is going to be very difficult for us both. I am really happy to be going to do this movie but I wish it didn’t mean being so far away from you. I want us to be…  But the timing…’ He trailed off, looking over at where Bertie was running in a wide circle on the grass, trying to entice a cocker spaniel into a game. I shook my head. He felt the same as I did, I could tell. I would wait; I hoped he would.

He pressed my fingers to his lips. ‘I can say one thing for certain. I promise that I will never lie to you. Whatever happens, I will always be honest and straightforward.’

I nodded. ‘Me too. I promise.’ The words felt like a sacred vow between us.

If I had thought the parting in Aldeburgh ten or so days earlier was painful then this was agony. I locked my door and we walked hand in hand along the narrow street towards the main road. To the left, a short walk up the steep hill was my workplace; to the right, further away but in a straight line was the station, and the main line to London, only an hour away on a good day. I would have loved him to walk me into work, but we couldn’t risk a student recognising him, so we parted at the crossroads. Once again, I clung to him. He kissed me softly and we walked away from each other. We didn’t kiss again for four months.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy keeps busy but her friend is worried for her. A surprise phonecall changes things.

Looking back on that time now, I wonder how I survived it. Work was stressful and I added to the pressure by carrying on a debate with myself about the wisdom of my relationship with Tom. I didn’t doubt my feelings for him; those were overpowering and all-consuming. No, what bothered me were the effects the uncertainty was having on me. Whenever I was up at the house I would lie in bed talking it through with Dotty. Yes, I know she wasn’t there, and no, I wasn’t going mad. It was simply that I found it helpful to imagine she was there listening and offering advice. She had a forensic brain and a skill for clear thought, which was something I struggled with when it came to Tom. However, whichever way I looked at it, my heart always won the argument: I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to. Funnily enough, I think that Dotty would have approved.

It was difficult though; I had so few memories to sustain me, but somehow I managed. Tom texted, emailed, called, and even FaceTimed occasionally, but the contact was initially sporadic and often brief.  He was busy, but it was more than that; he felt guilty about starting a relationship with me when he did. He told me that later but I knew it anyway. But like me, he just couldn’t help it. I tried to get on with life, and as I had gone for a few years without a serious boyfriend, things hadn’t changed that much, to an outsider at least. Work, weekends at the house in Aldeburgh, walking Bertie, watching Tom on screen, waiting for a call or text. I had our two nights together to call on when I needed comfort or sometimes release, and they tided me over until I could speak with him again.

My work always increases in intensity between the spring and summer as the exams close in. The students are stressing and so are the teachers, so I hadn’t had much time to pine for my distant lover. But I did manage to fit some quality wallowing into the space remaining. Bertie picked up my mood and I spent many evenings with him attached so closely to my side that he felt like an extra limb. Things reach fever-pitch in April and May, and it is always a relief when study leave heralds the beginning of the exams. The pressure comes off the staff a bit, and from then on it’s just a matter of revision classes, in-service training and occasional fire-fighting with particularly stressed students.

Life wasn’t so bad and I had much to be grateful for, after all. In many ways my situation was infinitely better than it had been a year earlier. The inheritance meant that my money worries had gone; I owned a valuable property now and had savings in the bank. Mum never earned much, hadn’t owned her house, and when Trevor and Claire moved up north for his new job I lost the only home I had known. That was where Dotty had come in, and we had looked after each other really. Ours wasn’t a big family, and what we had was well-scattered, all across the UK and the world. Dot and I stuck together but it wasn’t forced. She knew I needed help, and I think that is why she left me everything. I was happy as I was before, but things are easier when you don’t have to panic about the rent or the power bills.

I still tried to get up to Aldeburgh every weekend, if only because the garden needed attention. After the first few weeks of our separation Saturday mornings were often marked by an early call from California. It was late on Friday for him but Tom knew I was free and it became a regular date. Sometimes we had phone sex. It wasn’t a patch on the real thing, but I did have that voice whispering dirty things to me, and that was quite something.  On one memorable occasion we used FaceTime for that purpose, with him on the bed in his darkened apartment on the Pacific and me in my sunlit bedroom on the North Sea. He looked tired and odd to me with his dyed-black hair, but if anything, his body looked better than ever, thanks to all the training he had done.

Far-away boyfriend apart, things were good. I had good friends, a rewarding career, an adoring dog and a bolt-hole up the coast. When I began to renovate the house my intention had been to rent it out in the summer, mainly through an agency, but also at a discount to friends and colleagues. What happened in the end was that I simply invited people to stay. Over the months it had become a home to Bertie and me, as well as holding a special place in my heart; anyway I couldn’t bear the thought of strangers in that bed. I even had trouble accepting my dearest friend leaning against the worktop where Tom had lifted me that first night. I must have made a face when she did because Megan looked at me quizzically.

She and her partner Petra were staying for the first week of the summer holidays. It felt strange for the house to be full of noise and laughter; it almost seemed like a different place. Normally it was just me and the dog, and we were pretty quiet as a rule. Petra is a police officer, tall, blonde, Scandinavian-looking; a complete contrast to short, dark, slightly rotund Megan. They had been together for ten years by then, and we had all known each other since we met at university. They had come up for the Latitude festival, but that wasn’t until the weekend, so for now we were just relaxing after a tough year at work.

‘Any idea when he’ll be around again?’ Megan had guessed what my grimace was about and had obviously decided to broach what had become a taboo subject between us.

‘Not really,’ I answered, meeting her gaze steadily. ‘He expects to be home sometime next month.’

Megan did not really approve of Tom and I could understand why. My life had been acceptable before he came into it, and although she could see that he had made me happy in some ways, the distance and time between us worried her as much as it did Tom and me. She and Petra were the only ones who knew his identity. Rachel and a few other friends were aware that there was a man in my life but no more.

‘Nice of him to be so specific.’

I did not respond to her baiting and I saw Petra flash her a look of disapproval.  I didn’t want to fall out with Megan over Tom, but sometimes she made it difficult. I was cooking dinner: fresh fish from the beach stalls and salad from the farmers’ market in Leiston. My phone vibrated and I glanced at it as I watched the plaice frying. It was a text from Tom.

**_Are you busy this weekend? Tx_ **

What could that mean? I considered the matter. We had tickets for Latitude, but I would drop everything for a chance to be near him.

**_Not necessarily. Why? Mx_ **

**_I’m in Cleveland. If I can get you a flight, will you come? Tx_ **

I grabbed for the worktop as my legs were buckling. I could be with him in a few days. I looked around, trying to think.

‘Could you guys look after Bertie for me, here, for the weekend?’

‘Of course!’ said Petra quickly, speaking over Megan who had begun to say something else.

**_Yes! Mx_ **

**_Hold on._ **

The phone rang a moment later and his beautiful face appeared. I answered it, stepping out into the garden for a little privacy.

‘Hi darling! What’s happening?’

‘Well, I thought that as I’m so much nearer and you’re on holiday, maybe if I sent you some tickets we could grab some time together. What do you think?'

‘I can’t think of anything I want more.’ My heart was bursting.

‘Can you find someone to have Bertie?’

‘Already sorted. Megan and Petra are staying and they can look after him. What about the tickets?

‘I have already got my publicist Luke on the case. Once he has booked them he’ll probably courier them up to you.’

It went quiet for a moment.

‘Mandy?’

‘Yes Tom?’

‘I really need to see you. I can’t stand it any longer.’

‘I know. I can’t either.’

The next two days were a blur of packing, preparation and passports. I was to travel via Newark, and I would be arriving in Cleveland early Friday evening. The afternoon before I left for London Petra and I walked Bertie on the beach while Megan prepared dinner. The warm air was just beginning to cool, and a light offshore breeze was ruffling the tops of the waves which were crashing noisily on the shingle. It was high tide and Bertie was disconsolately searching for sand to soothe his stone-sore paws.

‘Don’t let Megan bother you, she has had some experience of actors which makes her distrust them.’ Petra was throwing stones into the dark green sea, trying to get them to skim across the surface.

‘I know, and I won’t. I see where she is coming from, but I can’t break it off, Petra. He means too much to me.’

‘She’s concerned about you, that’s all. He is going to be a big star when this film comes out. The anticipation is enormous.’

I nodded. I was aware of that, and it worried me. We had been able to keep our relationship a secret so far, but once that changed, as it must if he was really famous… I didn’t want to look too far into the future.

 

 


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleveland: Mandy gets her first taste of Tom's professional life.

A day and a half later I was stepping off the plane in Ohio. I had been to New York on a College trip the year before, and I was wearing the travel outfit I bought for that occasion; a silk-mix t-shirt and loose trousers, wonderfully comfortable and non-crease. My face and hair probably looked a mess, but at least I was reasonably well-dressed.  Fighting the urge not to giggle when the immigration guy asked if my visit was for business or pleasure, I emerged fairly quickly because I only had carry-on luggage. I stepped out into the arrivals area to be greeted by the surreal sight of a man in a chauffeur’s uniform holding up a bunch of red roses and a piece of card with my name on it. I walked over to him and he said quietly, ‘Mr Hiddleston sent me to collect you and take you to the hotel. He asked that you text him from the car.’

He handed me a phone, apparently one of Tom’s. When I looked at the phonebook, there was a listing for ‘The Jogger’ and nothing else. I smiled to myself. A few minutes later I tapped the screen as we made our way towards the city in the evening sunshine. I got a prompt response.

**_Just got in and about to have a shower. Can’t wait to see you. It’s been too long Tx_ **

When we reached our destination the driver walked me into the hotel lobby and went up to the reception desk. I heard him say something about ‘Mr Stratford’ and a man came round and took my largest bag, guiding me towards the lifts. When the doors opened he put it on the floor and pressed a button.

‘Room 230, Ma’am. He is expecting you.’

He winked, and that gesture brought back what Megan had said to me the night before last. Well not exactly _to_ me. She had muttered something and when I challenged her to repeat it she did.

‘I said that it seems to me like a trans-Atlantic booty call.’

Alone in the lift I blushed at the thought that the hotel staff had assumed I was just some tart who had been summoned for one reason. Did the driver think that too? Well if they did, there was nothing I could do about it, and I knew the truth. The bell chimed and I stepped out onto Tom’s floor and found his room easily. My hesitant tap on the door was answered immediately.

Somehow, at some point during the last few months, I had forgotten how heart-stoppingly beautiful he was. He was wearing only a towel around his waist; his dyed-black hair was wet from the shower and brushed back. He stepped to one side to allow me to enter the room, closed the door and pulled me to him for a kiss. I dropped my bags and the roses and threaded my arms around his neck, allowing the kiss to deepen and feeling his cock twitch against my stomach.  After a minute we came up for air.

‘I’ve missed that.’

‘Me too. And this.’ I smiled, allowing my belly to press more firmly against the front of his towel, which already resembled a boy scout’s tent. I had been thinking about this moment for the entire journey and I wanted to make the most of it. He coughed.

‘Let’s get you settled in first, shall we? We’ve got the whole weekend.’

‘No filming?’

‘No,’ He smiled broadly, ‘I wouldn’t have asked you to come otherwise. That’s why it was so last-minute. I wanted to be sure.’

Tom picked up my flight bag and led me into the bedroom of the suite, showed me the bathroom and started to dress.

‘I wouldn’t bother with that, my love,’ I said casually. It made a pleasant change for him to be the one with no clothes on, although from the way he was looking at me I suspected that was only a temporary arrangement. He laughed.

‘Are you hungry? I took the liberty of ordering us some dinner, I hope that’s alright. Just salad and some fruit, it’s in the other room. And some champagne, of course.’

_Thoughtful as ever and so romantic._

‘Maybe in a while. But I’d love a glass of bubbly!’

While he fetched the bucket and glasses I unpacked. It wasn’t a long process. Tom poured us a glass each and we sat together on the edge of the bed. With my free hand I caressed his cheek, my eyes exploring the contours of his face, trying to store up the memory. The dark hair made his blue eyes look even bluer. The effect was striking and although I preferred him fair, I had to admit that I liked it. I ran my hand over his shoulders, broader than before, I thought, the muscles in his arms larger. I continued my survey, my fingertips caressing the firm planes and angles of his chest and abdomen. He gasped slightly as I teased the skin around his navel, touching the top of his treasure trail. His legs, always one of my favourite things about him seemed more powerful than ever. My body was ready for him, had been for some time, but my thoughts were in turmoil; there was so much I wanted to tell him, but I wasn’t sure if I could or should say any of it aloud. Then he caressed my cheek and spoke.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Mandy. I know we haven’t really been together any time at all, but that isn’t how it feels.’

I gasped. It was uncanny: he had said almost exactly what I was thinking. I put my glass down and kissed him.

‘Oh Tom, it’s been awful, just knowing you were so very far away. I know I don’t have any right to feel like this, but…’ This time he kissed me. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the smell of him. ‘I try to keep busy, but it only helps for a while.’  

He hugged me even closer. I knew he had been having a great time making the movie. He was working with a group of people he loved, doing the job he adored, and I was happy for him. That said, in our phone calls there was always an unspoken ‘but’. I had put on a front for him, but now I was with him it was crumbling. A tear made its way down my cheek and he lifted my face up to his and kissed it away. His lips moved to mine and my hands did what they’d been wanting to do since he opened the door, and pulled the towel away. I took hold of his cock and stroked it. He moaned softly and his hips jerked upwards. 

‘Fuck me Tom, before I die of frustration.’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

I stood up and began to take my t-shirt off. Tom stood as well and helped me finish the task, assisting with my bra, kissing the flesh as it was uncovered.

‘I’ve missed your tits so much,’ he mumbled crudely through a mouthful of breast. I pulled my trousers and knickers down and pushed him back into a seated position so I could straddle him, lowering myself slowly but surely onto his now rock-hard cock. As I did so I was reminded just what a poor substitute my vibrator was for my man. Whatever I tried, however vivid my imagination (and I do have quite a good one), I could never reproduce the combination of the scent, touch and sheer power of his reality. I devoured every inch of him, and I never wanted him to leave me. We stayed still for a while, nothing stirring apart from our mouths, tongues and hands. I think we both simply wanted to enjoy the feeling of being so intimately joined after so long. Then my body could resist it no longer and I began to move. He lifted his hips in time with me, his hands gripping my bum so tightly I would have bruises the next day.

I was tired and not as fit as him, so after a while he was doing most of the work, thrusting upwards and pulling me down onto him. I could see he was getting close but was waiting for me so I put my hand between us and rubbed my clit. That was all it took; I had been in a state of arousal since I changed planes at Newark. The sight, smell, touch and taste of him was enough to bring me even closer, and now I was there, soaring skywards, tingling all over and shouting his name. Tom stepped up his pace and found his own release, burying his face in my breasts again and then kissing me as if his life depended on it.

We stayed like that for a few moments, allowing our breathing to slow a little and relishing the contact. I spotted a trickle of sweat running down his temple and licked it away. Tom’s eyes closed as I did so and he pulled me even closer and whispered in my ear.

‘I’m so happy you could come, Mandy. I think I was going a bit bonkers without you.’

He smiled at me and his face had such a look of sweetness that he might have been a little boy, rather than the man who had just fucked me senseless. We continued to kiss for several minutes. Then it occurred to me that the sensation I could feel in my stomach was hunger. I had fulfilled one overwhelming need, now another was calling.

‘I think I could manage some food now.’

We ate in the bathrobes the hotel provided, sitting on the sofa in the sitting-room facing each other, me with my legs tucked under me, he with his legs akimbo as usual. The salad was delicious, sweet chilli chicken and mango, washed down with the rest of the champagne, followed by fresh strawberries and peaches. Watching him eat the fruit was a uniquely erotic experience; I knew he was teasing me, sliding the slices of peach into his mouth, sucking them in over his tongue; pursing his lips around the berries, making unnecessarily loud smacking noises… Eventually he tested my patience to breaking point and I put my plate down, sat up and pulled at the belt on my robe.

‘Alright Casanova, come over here and show me exactly how good you are with that mouth.’

He favoured me with a wicked smile (which I discovered some time later actually belonged to Loki) and knelt in front of me.  He opened my robe, put his hands on my thighs and, without breaking eye-contact, firmly pushed them apart. It was the first time he had been even a little rough with me and it was unbelievably thrilling. Still fixing me with his gaze he pressed his mouth against me, licking and nibbling and sucking and swirling. It was better than I remembered, and I was unable to stop my head from rolling back and my eyes from closing. My entire being seemed to be focussed on those few square centimetres at the top of my legs.  He made humming noises which had a greater effect than any sex toy I had ever tried and before long I was coming again. Finally I had to beg him to stop before I passed out, and he laughed evilly when I did so.

‘Ehehehe… Now, what shall we do next?’


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy has had an exciting time in the States, but it was just a weekend. But however sad she is to leave, she is taking something precious with her.

Looking out of the window as the plane took off I felt my heart sink into my body, fall steadily down through the seat and the floor of the plane to land with a thud on the runway. I was heading home and leaving it behind with him. Tom was finishing his time on the movie very soon and would be home shortly after, but the thought of more separation was agonisingly painful. I had become too accustomed to being with him, to being able to touch him when I wanted to, to breathing him in. And something had shifted between us during the weekend; something which made this harder that I could have imagined.

I knew it couldn’t last of course; people can’t spend their entire lives in a hotel room having sex, not going out or barely seeing anyone else. We had spent every moment of the past two and a half days together, from when I stepped into his hotel room until he left very early that morning (he had to get the rest of Loki’s hair restored by means of extensions) ready for the day’s filming. We had ventured out a couple of times to be fair, once to take a late-night drive with Gerry (that was the driver’s name) along the lake shore and around the city. There was a great deal of interest in the movie and Tom didn’t want to subject me to the fans who were hanging around, so we sneaked out under cover of darkness. It was magical, with the lights reflecting on Lake Erie. Tom made sure our trip took in the locations they were using so when I saw _Avengers_ I recognised that ‘Stuttgart’ was actually the Central Square in Cleveland.

We left the room on one other occasion too. The morning after my arrival we were still in bed when Tom’s phone buzzed. He laughed when he read the message.

‘Ehehehe. It’s from Hemsworth, just checking that we’re still alive.’

‘I’m alive, but not kicking,’ I had answered, gingerly getting to my feet from the edge of the bed. ‘You’ve nearly done for me, Hiddleston. I can hardly walk!’

He looked very pleased with himself, not in least sorry for my discomfort.  As I headed off to run myself a soothing bath he called after me.

‘Chris sends his regards.’

I froze. _These people know about me? They know I’m here and why?_

Tom must have seen me stiffen because he was up and next to me in a split-second. He put his arms around me and pulled me back against his chest.

‘Don’t worry, Mandy,’ he was speaking softly into my ear, ‘I haven’t been talking about you to everyone, just Chris. I had to tell someone and he’s my best friend on the movie.’

I let my breath out in a sigh. I was still feeling a little uncomfortable about the situation, but only about the perception others might have of it. It wasn’t rational, of course. I couldn’t control what other people thought about Tom and me, but I suppose it was in part due to the fact that I was in an unfamiliar country and Tom was the only person I knew there. I felt vulnerable, and all the cloak-and-dagger stuff didn’t help.

‘Look,’ he was still speaking softly into my ear,’ I’d love to introduce you to the others who are here, though. There are only a few of the cast around, but I’m guessing you’d like to meet Joss Whedon, wouldn’t you?’

He knew I loved _Buffy_ , so he had me. There was no way I could pass up an opportunity to meet the great man, so he called him and arranged for us to go to his suite for drinks the next evening. Joss had known something was up because Tom had requested that his weekend be free if possible, and he was naturally curious. When I had packed I had not anticipated spending the entire visit in bed, so I did have a pretty dress to wear, but I was overwhelmed with excitement and nervous as hell. I texted Megan for help.

**_What am I going to say to Joss Whedon?_ **

**_You are MEETING HIM? COW_ **

Megan was at least as big a fan as me, more so probably.

**_YES, 2mrw nite. HELP!_ **

There was a long delay, presumably while she seethed and ranted at Petra. They were at the Latitude Festival and I later learned that Megan had sworn loudly during a poetry reading when she read my first text.

**_Just tell him how much you love Buffy. That should cover it._ **

‘Oh thanks, Meg!’

Tom looked up from his breakfast as I muttered.

‘Everything OK?’

‘Yes, just that I was hoping that my best friend the Film and Media Studies teacher would help me work out what to say to Joss. I’m feeling rather intimidated.’

‘Don’t be. He’s lovely, and really easy to talk to. You’ll be fine.’

He smiled encouragingly at me and I felt a bit better. And of course Joss was very nice. Tom introduced me as his girlfriend, something which made my stomach do a flip, and told Joss I was a _Buffy_ fan. Naturally Joss asked me for my favourite episode and I think I surprised him by telling him that it’s _The Body_. It’s not a happy or funny one, but it resonates so loudly with me that on _Buffy_ -marathon nights with Megan if we watch it I have to be slightly drunk first. He captured the way I felt the day my mother died so perfectly, including the endless replaying of events in your head and the sheer physical shock of it that I had to thank him now I had the chance.

We passed a delightful couple of hours with Joss, Clark Gregg, whom I recognised from _Thor,_ Colbie Smulders and Jeremy Renner, who is hilarious. Tom spent the entire time at my side, never letting go of me. I felt very welcome and no longer like a dirty secret.

As I said, not rational.

But the best part of the evening was yet to come, although I could never have guessed that meeting Joss Whedon could be topped by anything. As we got back to Tom’s room, he pulled me into an embrace as he shut the door. I looked at his face and his eyes were glistening, which made tears prick at mine too.

‘Introducing you to the guys tonight has made me realise something,’ he said, caressing my cheek and tucking a stray hair behind my ear. ‘I love you, Mandy.’

I stopped breathing. My heart began to beat very, very fast.

I had wanted to say that to him from the moment I saw him again. It had been pushing against my lips for weeks, but I was afraid. I hardly dared allow myself to think it. I had never said it to anyone, never wanted to before, and it had certainly never been said to me. I leaned back a little so I could see his face properly. He was regarding me anxiously, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

‘I love you too, Tom. I think I have since that time Bert made you cut your knee.’

I only realised the truth of that as I was saying it, but the feelings I had for him had begun that day, and all that had changed was the intensity. Now I was suffused with them. I loved everything about him, good and bad (not that there was much of the latter), and when I looked at him I felt at peace. When I was in his arms I was at home, when we made love it was as if our bodies were meant to fit together.

He kissed me then and it was the perfect kiss, the fantasy one, the one I am thinking about when I lie in bed alone wishing he was with me. Even as it was happening I was storing the memory up to sustain me for the next few weeks.  What had just happened washed away all my doubts and worries about whether I should be with him, or what other people thought, all of that was gone when Tom told me he loved me. He swept me up and carried me to the bed. Our love-making that night took on a whole new meaning. I opened up to him physically as I had emotionally, and he to me. I had never felt that way before; it was scary but it felt right.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is coming home!

Megan looked at me as if I had gone mad.

‘What the…?’

‘I said, it’s Joss Whedon and he’d like a word with you.’ I handed her my phone.

It was a day or two after I returned from Cleveland, and she and Petra were still with me in Aldeburgh. Tom had arranged for Joss to ring to discuss a plan he had about doing a video for Megan’s students, present and future. It was Tom’s idea of course, a way to get into her good books and prove himself ‘worthy of me’, as he put it. His phrase made me snort with laughter, but I did want things between Megan and me to get back to how they used to be, so I accepted his offer. Soon Megan was speaking excitedly into the phone, and only a couple of weeks later a DVD arrived to back up the video Joss had recorded and emailed to her. He talked about the processes in writing and directing for film and TV, how they differed and also gave some sage advice to any budding Josses.

The thaw in relations this brought about proved invaluable when Tom finally had a firm date for his return to London.  He had sold his flat just before he left for California and his sister Emma had supervised the moving of all his goods and chattels into his new house, but she hadn’t been able to unpack for him. He asked me to go down to London the day after he returned so we could do it together. I didn’t really want to take Bertie to a house full of chaos so Megan was the obvious choice. The Joss thing made it much easier to ask, and she agreed immediately.

I felt oddly nervous when I boarded the train at Colchester. It was frustrating that I could only stay for a couple of days because ‘results day’ was later that week and one’s presence was more-or-less mandatory. And I wanted to be there, but not at the expense of being with Tom. Once again, obligation versus heart… But that wasn’t the cause of my anxiety. Tom had told me he loved me in Cleveland, and although he had reiterated it every time we had spoken since, I had an irrational fear that when he saw me he would regret saying it, or change his mind.

After an uncomfortable Tube journey from Liverpool Street surrounded by tourists, roasting gently the whole time, I reached the street in Chalk Farm I was looking for. Tom buzzed me through the gates of the small collection of houses and I looked around. It was very nice. Not overly fancy, but in central London very expensive, I imagined. His house was small, nineteenth-century, perhaps; built as artists’ studios, he told me, so full of natural light. I loved it at once.  I didn’t need to knock because the door swung open as I mounted the path and there were the familiar red roses.

‘This is becoming a habit, my love.’

I took the bouquet from him and he kissed me chastely. The door closed behind me and I realised that I could hear music: the Rachmaninov that I associated with ‘us’.

‘I thought you needed a _good_ memory to go with this,’ Tom said, tilting his head towards the sound and, gently taking my bags and the flowers out of my hands and putting them to one side, he pulled me against him. Now his kisses were no longer chaste. He began to nibble and kiss my neck and felt myself becoming wet immediately. His tongue was on my collarbone and hands were inside my light summer dress and then inside my knickers. I felt myself being pressed into the wall behind me and without hesitation I reached for his belt. Moments later he was inside me thrusting, slowly at first. But I was impatient.

‘Harder, Tom, harder.’ I urged, and he obeyed.

 I had never had sex like it before. So rough and ready but at the same time so loving and passionate. The piano concerto swelled and ebbed in the background, whiIe I was lifted up on a tidal wave of pleasure. He was so strong he could support me, and I am not light. I am five feet six inches tall, and although I am by no means overweight, neither am I skinny. But I felt like a feather as he surged into me, gasping my name into my neck with every movement of his powerful hips and thighs. I felt my orgasm coming and suddenly it was there, taking what was left of my breath away and making me cling to his neck like a drowning woman. Moments later he was coming too, calling my name. The Rachmaninov had finished at some point earlier, but I hadn’t noticed; it was certainly going to evoke rather different feelings from then on. Tom lowered me gently until my feet touched the floor, although my legs were like jelly still.

_What a welcome._

 ‘I love you, Tom.’

‘And I love you, Mandy.’

Once we had both recovered, he showed me around. There was a lot to be done (especially when it came to his books, which was what he had specifically asked me to help with), but I was looking forward to it. It would be nice just to do ‘normal’ things together for once. Not that I was complaining about having lots of sex, don’t get me wrong. I had never had a relationship like this before, where we wanted to make love to each other all the time. And because of the distance and the frantic nature of our time together, I think we both felt the need to be intimate as much as possible. And I had never had such good sex either, but there were times in those early months when I felt that I knew Tom’s body better than his mind. But that was changing, and even though he had jumped me the minute I arrived, this visit turned out to be less sex-fuelled than previous times together.

After lunch I went to the nearest supermarket to shop for ingredients. I wanted to cook for him, something special. I’m not a great chef, but I can do a good Italian or French dinner, so I opted for my favourite thing to cook, fegato alla Veneziana. With a starter of artichokes and panna cotta for dessert, I thought I was on to a winner, and I was right. The kitchen was small but there was everything I needed, and Tom had plenty to occupy him while I cooked. But after half an hour he drifted in and started to get in the way. Eventually I had to send him packing; being kissed and fondled all the time is very distracting, not to mention dangerous when there are hot pans and sharp knives around.

After dinner we lay together on the sofa and talked.  I don’t remember everything we discussed, but the conversation ranged over many subjects and we discovered a great deal about each other. Our family backgrounds were very different, but our mothers sounded like they were quite similar people, and whilst I was nowhere near as well-travelled as Tom, we shared a love of France and Italy and promised to visit them together in the future. I don’t think I had ever been happier than I was that evening, lying on the sofa with him. A peace came over me as I snuggled into his chest, his strong arms enveloping me as I leaned against him. I was where I should be.


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the Suffolk countryside help alleviate some of Mandy's worries.

Returning home after my visit to Tom’s house was nothing like as painful as any of our previous partings. He was in the same country, only a short distance away and in any case we were going to meet up at the weekend just a couple of days later. Not that I had time to dwell on it anyway because I was back at work the next morning, if only briefly.

Results day was the usual mix of excitement and trauma. My own teaching groups had reasonably good results, and best of all the two students I was most concerned about had somehow managed to pull something out of the bag at the last minute and merited C-grades; much, much better than I had feared. I was sharing the supervision of a personal tutor group that year, and there was some counselling needed amongst the boys and girls who had not achieved the results needed for their University offers, but equally we had some who had done very well, including two girls who were heading for Tom’s old Cambridge College.

I like the pastoral side of my job because I remember what a difference kind and supportive teachers made to my academic experience. I was going to have the tutor group to myself the following year and I was looking forward to building the relationships you need to form in order to guide young people at such a crucial time in their lives. I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for the responsibility, but my colleagues and mentors were, so I accepted that their confidence in me was not misplaced. But it has its own risks, as does anything where young, vulnerable humans are involved. But I don’t believe anybody could have predicted the crisis one of those relationships would cause in my life.

That August weekend in Aldeburgh was one of those rare lovely summer ones we occasionally get in England. We drove up the coast in the Gilbern on the Saturday and walked from Dunwich Heath around the outside of the Minsmere bird reserve. We stopped for lunch at a lovely little pub with a curious name half way round, _The Eel’s Foot Inn_. Bertie was not as keen on the whole thing as Tom and I were after the first couple of miles. As usual, he had run around on the beach like a loon and was getting tired before we had gone a quarter of the distance. Lurchers, like greyhounds, prefer short fast walks to long hikes, but he was getting used to them gradually; not that he had a choice; I love to walk. However, we had no way to tell him to save his energy, so we arrived at the pub with a very miserable-looking dog in tow.

Bert perked up after a rest in the shade, a bowl of water and a share of our fish and chips, and was not too exhausted when we got back to the car park on the cliff-top. Tom’s hair was still black then and a passing little boy recognised him as Loki, the first time anything like that had happened when I had been with him. I was a little alarmed; we had gone to great lengths to avoid this in Cleveland. Tom, however, was perfectly calm about it and spoke to the boy and his parents for a few minutes then got into the car with a big smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘He said he was sad that Loki was dead. I made him really happy by telling him what I’ve just been doing.’

Tom couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. I began to understand what all this meant to him, but I still felt anxious. It was fear of the unknown, of course. Fame, stardom, the media; all of that was totally outside my experience, and I still felt uneasy about our relationship. He was due to go off travelling again shortly, and the College enrolment days at the end of the month heralded my own return to work. I was becoming surer and surer about how we felt about each other, but less and less certain about what that meant for us. His world was so far away from mine, literally as well as figuratively. I loved him so much it hurt when we were apart, an actual, physical pain. Could I stand that for as much time as I had already, on a regular basis? What kind of a couple can survive that much separation?

And there was another dimension to it, one which played on my mind a great deal. The nature of Tom’s work meant that he was surrounded by beautiful women, and not a few of them would have had him in a heartbeat, I was sure of that. I had spent a few low nights imagining femme fatales stalking and seducing him, especially if for whatever legitimate reason he hadn’t been in touch for a day or two.  I remembered what we had said on the bench in Castle Park that morning in March, and decided that if he did stray, he would be straight with me about it. Not that that brought me much comfort, though.

I did my best to put those worries out of my mind for the rest of the weekend, and mostly succeeded. All this was entirely in my head anyway, just my usual approach to things that worried me: making up disastrous scenarios. I had worked hard to banish the insecure teenager I used to be and replace her with a confident woman, but the situation with Tom was so full of uncertainty that she kept banging on the window, trying to get back in. Tom had never given me any cause to doubt him, had never treated me with anything other than the utmost thoughtfulness and love. Just like my concerns about what other people thought in Cleveland, it wasn’t rational.

As I said, we had a wonderful weekend together, just hanging out at the house, walking the dog, shopping, gardening, all the usual stuff ‘normal’ people do. And making love of course; we did a great deal of that. After we returned from our walk we showered to wash off the sweat and dust of the Sanderlings and spent the evening on the sofa. My feet hurt a bit; I had been wearing my walking sandals and they are less supportive than boots, although much cooler for summer days. Tom noticed me flexing my ankles and toes and offered me a foot rub. He started at my feet, but soon his hands were massaging my calves, then my thighs and then, well, that led to something else. Bert had gone straight to his bed to sleep when we got home, but our moans must have woken him because Tom suddenly yelped and jerked. A very cold nose had connected with his bare bum, and let me tell you, the nose of a narrow-muzzled dog like Bertie is _extremely_ cold.

‘Fed up with being left out, are you Bert?’

I was still laughing at the look on Tom’s face hours later.

 For me the best thing about Tom being at the house was waking up with him. Words cannot express the joy of it. He always looks wonderful, and the smell and feel of him are so delicious. I am a ‘morning person’ and so is he; and of course, penises are morning people too. Tom had his usual morning glory the next day, and as I was awake first I decided to treat him. My earlier nervousness was in the past, as thanks to him I had gained plenty of experience. I was still unable to accommodate all of him in my mouth, simply because he is so bloody huge, but I knew what drove him mad. I carefully lifted up the covers, trying not to wake him just yet, and positioned myself by his side. I gently slipped my fingers around the base of his cock and kissed the tip softly. He gasped and woke up with a start.

‘Morning, sexy.’ I smiled up at him.

‘Well good morning to you … ah!’

I didn’t wait for him to finish speaking before I took as much of him as I could into my mouth, then ran my tongue up the bulging vein on the underside. His cock twitched violently and his hips jerked upwards, choking me a little; I was still a long way from being able to manage more. Then I began to suck and lick and swirl my tongue over him until he was gasping again. I used my hand as well and judging from the way he was moaning and occasionally thrusting up off the bed, I was doing all the right things. After a while he used the hand he had in my hair to pull me off him with a loud pop.

‘I want to come inside you, my love.’

That was alright with me, always is. So he did.

Sunday evening meant another horrible goodbye. He was off to do some promotion for _Midnight In Paris,_ and I was heading back home to Colchester to prepare for the start of term a week later.  Somehow, it never got easier, only more painful. It was almost a year since we had first met, and the past six months had set what would be the pattern for the two years to come: short periods of time together divided by periods of separation, some brief but more often prolonged, especially when he was filming. Despite the agony of parting, I felt happy that night as I drove home, because despite my moments of insecurity, I thought I could weather anything as long as Tom loved me. But I had no idea what I would be facing just a few months later.

 

 


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A student with a crush on Mandy causes major trouble for them both

I suppose there is nothing like hindsight, but I should have raised an objection as soon as I saw the revised tutor group list. Michael was the lad in my AS group the year before who had a major crush on me, and it was bound to cause problems if I was his Personal Tutor. But last-minute changes had to be made because of unexpectedly high numbers of returning students, and with no experience as a sole tutor, I just let it go. That was my first mistake.

My second one was in not recognising the seriousness of what was happening soon enough. My inexperience was probably the reason for that, plus the usual overload of work in the first half-term of the year; and the inevitable distraction of Tom. To begin with, nothing had really changed from the year before. Michael was not in my A2 teaching group, purely by coincidence, but being his PT meant I saw him more-or-less daily, and he still looked at me with a rather unsettling stare. I had been down this road before, or so I thought. Most young teachers have the experience. I was female, reasonably attractive, with a generous bust measurement, and I was teaching a course which requires students to think about their feelings and emotional responses to things. It had happened at my previous school, at least once to my knowledge, but the boy involved seemed to grow out of it. The difference here was that Michael was older, nearing eighteen, and he showed no sign of losing interest in me, despite changing teachers for English Literature.

We discovered later that it was one of Tom’s romantic gestures which sent him off the deep end. The first worrying thing Michael did was start sending me personal messages on Facebook. I kept my account purely for work purposes, and nothing personal appeared on it. It provides a way for my Eng Lit students to contact me and for me to share useful links and information with them. This approach is fairly typical of the College; we encourage a growing independence, acting as a bridge between school and the adult world. Staff are known by their first names, something that some of our students find hard to adjust to if they have been at very formal schools, as Michael was.

I ignored his messages, did not reply and told the Senior Tutor heading the division about them. He decided to move Michael to another group immediately. The tenor was unmistakably sexual.  He believed there was a mutual attraction, which of course there was not; even without Tom I would not have considered an affair with a student under any circumstances. I ‘un-friended’ him, naturally, but I could not avoid seeing him around College. He put notes in my pigeon-hole, he left messages for me at the work-room; he was relentless. I began to suspect he was following me home. Margaret, the Assistant Principal in charge of pastoral matters called him in and told him to stop or face expulsion. He did rein it in a little, but only for a while. By the beginning of the second half of term it was as bad as ever.

Then, it seems, he spotted a bouquet of red roses which had been left at Reception for me, and somehow managed to read the card. Happily there wasn’t much on it, just ‘to my darling Mandy, missing you, can’t wait, Tom xxx’ but the women in the office said that he became very upset. At the end of the day, I was walking home carrying the flowers when I saw Michael leaning against a wall a few houses along from mine. He had a face like thunder.

‘Who is he?’

I ignored this and carried on walking past him.

‘I said, who is this ‘ _Tom’_?’

He was shouting now.

‘I’ve never seen you with anyone! You sent them to yourself, didn’t you?’

I tried to ignore him, opened my front door, stepped through and locked it behind me as quickly as I could. The next thing I did was telephone Margaret. She advised me to call the police, which I did. They told me someone would be round shortly, but it was two hours before they arrived. While I was waiting I texted Tom to tell him what was happening. We had been continuing to see each other for snatched weekends in London or Aldeburgh, but occasionally he visited me in Colchester for the odd night, and I was afraid that if this boy was stalking me he might see him leaving. But he obviously hadn’t by that stage, hence the questions.

‘Is he dangerous, do you think?’ Tom sounded very anxious when he called me in response to my message.

‘I doubt it; only to himself, anyway. But this is rather upsetting.’

‘Call me when the police have been, will you?’

By the time the two women officers arrived Michael had gone. One of them was Petra, and she was very reassuring. They had been to College first and Margaret had given them his address, so they were going to see him next.

‘Ring us if he comes back, or contacts you in any way from now on,’ Petra said, sternly. ‘We are going to tell him to keep right away from you. Especially from here.’

I took her to one side and said quietly ‘I’m worried he’s going to spot Tom if he hangs around, and I’m afraid of what he might do if he recognises him.’

‘Let’s hope he listens to us, then,’ she said, ‘but if he does come back, you know what to do.’

Whatever Petra and her colleague said to him seemed to work, because the messages stopped and I did not see him for the next few days, except occasionally from a distance at College. That weekend Tom and I were at the house in Aldeburgh with Bertie and I began to feel that I could put this whole unpleasant episode behind me. Tom said that we could continue to be discreet and that there was no need for anything to change. He was free on the Monday too, so he travelled back to Essex with me and we spent Sunday night together. Nothing untoward happened as far as we could tell, but then I got a text from him only a couple of hours after we parted the next morning.

**_There is a story on the internet. That boy has posted pictures of us leaving your house this morning._ **

He attached a link and there they were, on Michael’s Facebook page and Twitter feed, tagged with my name and unmistakably Tom. He had said some hideous things about me. And about Tom.

I was supposed to teach the next period, but I went straight to see Margaret and she telephoned Rachel who arranged to set some work for my class; I was not in any fit state to discuss Shakespeare. The Principal came into the room and advised me to go home as apparently rumours were sweeping through College already.

‘You have done nothing wrong, Mandy.’ Alan said. ‘We are all well aware that you did nothing to encourage this boy, but I think you have bigger problems now. May suggest you take a few days off? We can arrange compassionate leave for you.’

‘Thanks Alan. Yes, I think my boyfriend and I need to sort a few things out.’

I went home, packed a bag, gathered up Bertie and caught the next train to London.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy goes to see Tom and they take advice on what to do.

I took a taxi to Tom’s from Liverpool Street Station. I had spent the journey from Colchester convinced that everyone in the carriage with a phone, tablet or laptop was looking at me. I was so paranoid that when a man spoke to me I jumped out of my skin, when the poor guy just wanted to know if he could stroke Bertie. I don’t suppose any of them were actually aware of my sudden notoriety, of course, but once I reached the capital I felt happier away from public transport, and it‘s easier with the dog in a cab.

Tom had given me the code and a key for his house previously, so I let myself in. As I closed the door Tom bounded down the stairs from the mezzanine and gathered me into his arms. I had been keeping myself together but I crumbled now; I felt totally responsible for what had happened and creating this problem. I started to apologise.

‘Ssshh, it’s OK Milly-Molly, we’ll sort it out, don’t cry my darling.’

He had started calling me that. It was a nickname I had at school, after the children’s book character, _Milly Molly Mandy,_ and I used to hate it. Somehow, from him it was adorable.

’Luke’s in the kitchen. He has some suggestions about what we should do.’

I swallowed hard and followed Tom to meet his publicist. Luke and I had spoken on the phone when he was organising my trip to Cleveland, and of course he had known about me from quite early on. His job was to manage Tom’s image, so I assumed I was not his favourite person that morning. Of course he was charming and made sure that I knew he did not blame me for what Michael had done any more than Tom did. We sat at the small dining table as he laid it out for us quite quickly.

‘It seems to me that you have three alternatives, none of which are ideal, but we are where we are. First of all you could lie, say that you are not seeing each other, and that it was just a one-off thing.’ He paused, as I had bristled at the idea, and Tom was shaking his head. He continued. ‘I would strongly recommend that you don’t do that. Lying is a very bad idea, and Tom is useless at it anyway.’

‘No argument from me,’ said Tom.

‘Second option, you could come out as a couple, start seeing each other openly, going to events together.’ I looked at Tom, but his eyes were fixed on Luke. ‘It will mean that we will need to change our approach. We have been marketing Tom as sexy, flirty, _available._ But if you agree to go public, I can work with that.’ Tom nodded quickly. Luke turned to look me in the eyes. ‘This would mean a big change for you, Mandy. It might interfere with your career, you need to recognise that. At the very least, it will mean you will be inconvenienced, hassled by reporters, and possibly come under some attack. You have a low internet profile which is good, but some of the sites can get pretty nasty and cruel. And then there are the fans. I can’t promise you won’t be treated badly.’

I nodded. I had been thinking about this possibility since Tom told me about the pictures. I didn’t know whether I was ready to give up my life as it was just yet, even for Tom. But if I had to, I would. But Luke had said there were three possible ways forward. He continued.

‘The third way would be my choice. Do nothing.’

Tom had been looking at our hands which were clasped on the table. His head shot up.

‘What? Is that really a possibility?’ He asked incredulously.

‘Yes,’ Luke replied, ‘I think it is. Just let this whole thing die down, let the gossip columns witter on a bit, allow it to become a nine-day wonder. As long as this boy is stopped from posting anything else, of course, you two can carry on as you have been, and apart from the odd really obsessed fan, I think it will probably be forgotten soon. If you are not being photographed together, nobody will bother.’ He looked at me again. ‘That way, when you guys decide to make things public, you can do it when _you_ are ready.’

He was smiling kindly at me. Tom was still looking rather shocked at this suggestion, but I felt infinitely better. I began to think through the next few days. I would have to stay away from work for a bit, change my phone numbers, that sort of thing, but yes, it could be OK.

Luke began to stand up. ‘Anyway, it’s up to you two to decide. All I can do is advise you. It has to be your choice, together. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. For now, I’ll do nothing.’

He kissed me on the cheek, embraced Tom and left.

Tom and I were quiet for a while. He gestured for me to go and sit on his lap, which I did. I leaned against his body and rested my head against his, just listening to him breathing. After a few minutes he turned his head and kissed me. I shifted on his lap and the kiss deepened. I ran my fingers through his hair as I kissed his cheek, then his jaw. I moved again as I felt his cock hardening under me, and straddled him, kissing my way down his neck and licking the hollow of his throat. He was moaning softly and jerking his hips up to grind his erection against me. Suddenly he stood up, lifting me with him and carried me to the sofa. I lay back and he pulled my knickers off, undid his trousers and slid into me.

We made love gently and slowly, and as his pace quickened he began to speak.

‘I…love…you…Mandy…with…all…of…me…’

Each thrust was punctuated with a word. I kissed and licked his jaw and neck, running my hands over his back and occasionally cupping his arse. As his movements became stronger I grabbed a handful of his hair, feeling myself getting close.

‘I love you too Tom.’

Then I was incapable of speech as I began to come undone. Tom lifted his head to watch my face as I came, then his jaw tightened and he groaned loudly as he spurted inside me. We stayed like that as he softened and I thought about what Luke had said. Such an approach would not be possible now, but Tom’s fame was not as intense then and it looked like the best choice for us. I wasn’t on Twitter, I had deleted my Facebook page; I thought I could ride out the gossip at College.

‘There is one other possibility which Luke left out.’

Tom’s voice jolted me out of my reverie. He had leaned back and I was lying against his chest. The words reverberated through my body. I pushed myself up a little to look him in the face.

‘Oh yes? What’s that?’

His eyes softened, and I saw tears welling.

‘You could decide I’m not worth all the hassle and dump me. I wouldn’t blame you.’

I stretched up and kissed him. Despite all my years studying literature, all the hundreds of poems, plays and novels I had read, I could not put into words just how far away from my thoughts such an act was.  Nonetheless, I made a feeble attempt.

‘Tom. I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to, which I absolutely do not. I’m afraid I love you so much I can’t imagine living without you anymore.’

‘But I’ve dragged you into a world where you become subject to this kind of thing. It’s not fair. You didn’t sign up for this in the way I did, and I…’

I put my finger on his lips.

‘Stop. No. It was my job that caused this. The fact that you are in the public eye is incidental.’

I kissed him again.

‘Whatever happens, that is not an option. ‘

I leaned my forehead against his and looked into his eyes. The tears that had built up overflowed and I kissed them away from his cheeks. He pulled me closer and I snuggled back into his chest.

‘So, do you want to do what Luke suggests? Just lay low and let it blow over?’

‘I think that would be best, and he seems to think it will work. This way, I can keep my life. I hope.’

There was a pause before he said anything. I didn’t understand it then, I think I know now what it meant. You see, I found out later that Tom wasn’t really happy with this course of action, but he knew it was what I wanted so he went along with it. I wish now he had said so. We might not have wasted the next two years and nearly… No. I’m jumping ahead.

‘If that’s what you want, then let’s try it.’

I noticed something funny in his voice, but we were both under a strain so I brushed it off. I stayed with him for the next three days, then went back to Colchester and tried to get my life back. 

 

 


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom shows his romantic side

Luke turned out to be right, more or less; Tom trusted him and he knew his stuff.  I went back to work after a week, and apart from a flurry of items in the gossip magazines and some bitchy posts online (so Megan and Luke told me, I steered clear), it pretty much went away, as predicted. Of course, if you googled my name…

Michael’s parents were well-off enough to send him up north somewhere to a boarding school to finish his A-levels and to get him some psychological help. They confiscated his phone and laptop and he was banned from social media. Petra and her colleagues must have put the fear of god into him I think, because it worked. Bertie and I got back to our routine and Tom and I saw each other when we could, discreetly. But it just kept getting harder and harder.

He was so busy and in demand, that was most of the problem. My career was going well too. I kept getting asked to take on more, such as helping with the charities committee, poetry and music evenings, the Student Council.  And as my boyfriend was largely absent, I couldn’t think of reasons to say no. I filled my time with distractions, because if I didn’t I sat at home, or in Aldeburgh, just pining. The months passed: he made movies, I taught; he promoted movies, I gardened; he prepared for roles, I maintained the house and the Gilbern; he studied scripts, I marked papers. We were together when we could be, and when we couldn’t we talked on the phone or however we were able to. It was unsatisfactory but I thought it was the only way I could continue to be myself and have an independent existence, which remains important to me.

Our first ‘anniversary’ approached and I suspected Tom was planning something special. He kept asking me what I was doing for February half-term, the closest to the actual date either of us could get away. I wanted to spend it in Aldeburgh, because that time of year is my favourite up there, apart from early summer. The bleakness of the landscape is wonderfully accentuated by the pale light and the wind and rain. And I love being in the house when a gale is rattling the doors and windows. Foolish really as we could be flooded (that area actually was in 1953, and in February in fact), but I just love the raw elemental quality of that experience.

In the end he agreed to join me up there, and in fact arrived first as he was free from the Thursday. Bert and I took our usual Friday evening trip up the A12, already after nightfall at that time of year. I love driving along the road to the house in the dark, hearing but not seeing the sea crashing onto the beach in the blackness. As I drew up to the house I could see soft light flickering in the sitting room window upstairs.

‘Tom must have lit some candles,’ I thought. ‘How romantic.’ Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the front door.

The house was full of roses.

My senses were swamped by an ocean of red petals, highlighted here and there by pink, white or cream blooms. Hand-tied bunches, modern arrangements, big blousy bouquets, every surface had its share and the place smelled like a florist’s.  A thousand candles filled the spaces in between. I stood transfixed in the doorway. Bert, however, was unimpressed and went straight to the kitchen to await his dinner.

‘Hello darling,’ Tom’s voice came from behind me. He moved closer to wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. He kissed my temple, then my ear, then down my neck, stopping at all the sensitive places.  

‘I know it’s not quite yet, but in two weeks it will be a year since we went to dinner that first time. Happy anniversary, Milly-Molly.’

I don’t think we had dinner that night at all.

For the next evening Tom told me he had booked a table at the restaurant we went to that first date, at the hotel in Saxmundham. I had half-expected this and packed the same dress I wore that evening, although I had treated myself to some sexy new lingerie. He wore the same lovely suit, romantic devil, and as we drove the short distance I was looking forward to reliving one of the most magical nights of my life. As we walked around to the front of the hotel I saw one of the couple that owned the place on the steps, waiting for us.  The ‘closed’ sign was on the front door as she showed us in. Tom had booked the entire place, not just a table.

When we stepped into the dining room I was overcome: it, too, was filled with red roses. I turned to look at him, his eyes glittering as he watched my reaction.

‘You’ve made my ruin my eye make-up,’ I scolded, pulling him down into a soft kiss. He brushed my tears away and cleared his throat.

‘You like it then?’

‘You are amazing.’

‘I know. So are you.’

Dinner was as delicious as ever.  Champagne was on ice; we ate scallops and lobster, followed by a delicate chicken dish and then came a plate of little chocolate desserts. I thought Tom was going to have an orgasm at the table when he tasted the mousse. His eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned in ecstasy.

‘This is incredible,’ he gasped.

‘I see. Well, I only hope I can match it.’

‘Oh darling, you are beautiful and I love you, but this?’ He pointed to his spoon, already charged with his next mouthful. ‘This I must have every day for the rest of my life.’

As we were finishing our coffee and petit-fours, I saw Tom nodding in the direction of the door behind me. Soft chamber music had been playing throughout the meal, but now I heard the opening acoustic guitar riff of Adele’s _Lovesong._ Tom stood and extended his hand. I joined him on the small makeshift dance floor, and he pulled me against him.

‘This is the song that makes me think of you the most, when I’m away,’ he whispered.

We danced slowly, our bodies pressed against each other, one of his arms on my back, his other hand linked with mine between us as he sang softly in my ear.

‘ _However far away,_

_I will always love you_

_However long I stay_

_I will always love you…’_

Soon after we left to head back to Aldeburgh. The chef-proprietor and his wife came out to say goodbye and we thanked them profusely; they had done everything they could to make the evening special. As we walked around the corner Tom repeated what he had done that first night, pushing me against the wall and kissing me with as much passion as he had then. I felt wetness pooling as I remembered what had followed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, smiling, ‘I just had to do that. You look even more beautiful tonight.’

He kissed me again, and I could feel he was as aroused as I was. We ran for the car.

Bert knew the routine by now, and was waiting by the back door when we got home. Tom remembered that night a year earlier as well as I did, and again he did exactly as he had then, lifting me up onto the counter and licking and nibbling my neck and collar bones, his hands up inside my dress.

‘Hello,’ he said when he encountered the edge of my knickers, ‘these are new.’

‘Honestly? You know my underwear that well?’

He chucked deliciously against me. ‘Oh yes, my love. I think of little else.’

When Bertie was safely installed in his bed, we made our way to the bedroom. I felt strangely nervous; we had made love so many times in the last year, but this felt different somehow, oddly portentous. Tom stood close behind me and lifted my dress up over my head. He gasped as he saw my new undies; they were black and red lace, and the knickers were barely there. I hoped he wouldn’t rip them off, they cost a fortune. The bra pushed my boobs up and he was gazing appreciatively at the effect. He walked around me, lowered his head and nuzzled and licked them, moaning softly.

‘I’m only sorry I can’t compare to the chocolate mousse,’ I murmured into his hair. He chuckled against my skin.

‘Ehehehe. Oh darling Milly-Molly, you taste so much better.’

He dropped to his knees and rubbed his nose against the front of my lacy knickers. He licked me through the fabric, and I felt it distinctly, the diaphanous material barely interfering with the sensations at all. I gasped and sighed loudly and encouraged, he pulled the skimpy garment down my legs. He pressed his mouth and nose against my trimmed hair and inhaled deeply.

‘Oh darling, you smell wonderful. It’s is one of the things I miss the most.’

I knew what he meant. It was those kinds of sensations I longed for when we were apart; the taste, the smell, the _feel_ of him. The things I ached for and somehow lived without for weeks, months on end. I looked down at him. His eyes were closed, his hands stroking up and down my thighs slowly. Was it only a year? I found it hard to remember what it was like before Tom. He wasn’t just my boyfriend, he was my life. I tried to continue, to have a life of my own, to be a professional, to function normally but the truth was rather different. When I wasn’t with him, I was just treading water until he came back to me.

Tom lifted my right leg up over his shoulder and ran his tongue up the length of my sex. I felt my other knee tremble, knowing what was to come. He swirled around my lips, flicking his nose over my clit, making me jerk involuntarily.

‘If you are going to carry on doing that, I’m going to need to lie down, my love.’ He looked up, grinning.

‘Oh yes, I am carrying on, all right.’ He stood and guided me to the bed. I lay back and he was on me instantly, his mouth and fingers moving against my dripping folds. I almost screamed when he sucked my nub into his mouth it was so intense. I came, pulling his hair and yelling his name like the first time, only it was even better because after a year together he knew every little thing that I loved, which tiny gestures and movements did it for me. He seemed determined to maximise my pleasure that night, several times bringing me the brink then letting me fall back, only to coax me towards it again. When he finally let me come for the third time, I almost passed out.

After I had recovered he moved up the bed and settled between my legs, his erection nudging against my thigh. His eyes were dark, his face serious.

‘I need to be inside you, now.’ His voice was hoarse and low; he sounded desperate, almost frightened. I caressed his face, kissed him and taking his hard cock in my hand, l lined him up. He pushed into me with one swift stroke, groaning deep in his chest as he did so, as if some huge weight had been lifted from him. He just stayed there, breathing deeply and nuzzling my hair for a while. I held him tightly; it seemed to be what he needed. Tom was missing me as much as I was him, and sometimes it was overwhelming for him when we were together, as it was for me. Later, as we lay in the dark, my head on his chest and our arms around each other, he kissed my hair.

‘I can’t believe it is only a year, Mandy.’

‘Me neither, but it’s more than that if you count the beach encounters. That adds six more months.’

‘Yeah, but I had to wait all that time to kiss you. Worst time of my life.’

‘Liar. You were doing such great things.’

‘Yes, I know, but I kept wishing I’d done something different, told you how I felt. I know I decided that I couldn’t but… Fuck, I used to lie in bed and…’

‘Yes. Me too.’ I grinned against his skin. ‘It wasn’t any kind of preparation for the real thing.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’ He pulled me closer.

I snuggled into him, and he began to drop off to sleep. I found it harder. My mind had already strayed ahead to the next parting, only a few days away.


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two years of a secret relationship, Mandy is at breaking-point.

How I carried on living this half-life for nearly another two years I have no idea. It wasn’t so bad all the time, of course. Work was as rewarding as ever, excluding all the normal irritations of any job. Bertie remained a delight to me as well as a support as we passed time with each other at the house and walking on the beach. I had good times with my friends and colleagues and I made sure I visited my brother and his family in Northumberland a few times. We got on better now we lived at opposite ends of the country; funny, that. Of course I couldn’t tell him and Claire about Tom, which made for some stilted conversations. I hate lying, so I would just avoid the whole subject. Trev knew me well enough to know I was hiding something, but also to know not to push it.

The business with Michael had changed my perspective in ways I didn’t even notice at first. I became more anxious about being seen with Tom, and as he became more well-known it meant we tended not to go out much, if at all. We still had wonderful times together but I felt more and more like a mistress, less like a legitimate girlfriend. It wasn’t anything to do with the way Tom treated me, not at all. He was as loving, kind and thoughtful as ever. It was all in my own perception of the situation and my stubborn desire to carry on with my career as if I wasn’t in love with a successful film and stage actor.

It all began to come to a head for me towards the end of last year. Over the course of the previous twelve months, a series of realisations and disappointments – all my own fault for having unrealistic expectations – weighed me down so much I began to feel that things had to change. The first let-down was due to my ignorance of the movie business. I assumed that because the _Thor_ sequel was to be filmed largely in London it would be easier to be with Tom. That didn’t happen, of course. He was filming very long hours for days on end, and then they all went off to Iceland. What an idiot I felt.

When Tom told me a few months later that he would be doing _Coriolanus_ at the Donmar Wharehouse I was ecstatic. November to February, plus rehearsal time beforehand, with him working in London! Again, ignorance; he slept in his own bed every night, true, but the times he wasn’t working he was mostly doing just that: sleeping. The production was exhausting both physically and mentally, and in addition most of the cast including Tom came down with a virus just before Christmas. He was the same man, but he simply didn’t have any spare energy for me. And by that time I was already convinced that something had to give. We just couldn’t carry on like this.

It was a conversation with Trevor which made me stop and really look at myself during the previous summer. I had allowed myself to become a sort of wraith when Tom wasn’t there, not eating properly and occasionally drinking too much at weekends. I had lost weight and as my brother kindly pointed out, I looked ‘like shit’. He said I reminded him of what Mum was like after Dad left. I don’t really remember that time because I was only four, but he was seven and he recalled it vividly. He was trying to get me to say what was going on, but all I could tell him was that I hadn’t been abandoned by a man.  

Driving back after that visit, I thought about what he had said. In a way he was right, of course. I was miserable, lonely and useless without Tom. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help it. I had become a junkie for him, physically dependent. When I didn’t get my fix I was in trouble, and it was beginning to affect my life badly. My work was suffering, I knew it and so did my colleagues and managers. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The thing that hurt the most was the slow dawning on me that it was making Tom miserable too. It affected him differently. Whereas I was only happy when we were together, he seemed a little sadder each time. That desperation I had sensed on our first anniversary became a regular feature of our love-making. He was quieter and quieter, and his eyes more distant. In contrast, and this is what wounded me more than anything, in photographs and interviews he seemed so happy it hurt my heart. His career was going great guns, he was working with wonderful filmmakers and actors and he was enjoying it. But when he saw his girlfriend she just made him depressed. Away from me he was the Tom I had fallen in love with, the man-child, full of joy and playfulness; with me, a sort of Adam without Eve, a pale imitation of himself.

The run at the Donmar was the tipping point. I went to several performances, thrilling and gut-wrenching though they were, but I could not leave the theatre with him. I had to sneak in and out, travelling back to the house separately. Mark Gatiss kindly offered to escort me a few times, but I daren’t because if I was spotted with him, someone might put two and two together. One night, before the crowds began to get unruly, I watched the Stage Door from a distance as Tom did his thing. He was his usual charming self, smiling for the cameras and signing everything proffered. I didn’t do it again, because it was exquisitely painful. I wanted to be standing there with him, proclaiming him to be my man. Hell, I wanted to put a banner up on the Houses of Parliament…

Except that I had said two years before that I wanted to keep my life. I wanted to continue with the career I loved unmolested by the media, and that could only happen if it wasn’t known that this beautiful man was mine and I was his. So I was stuck. I knew I had to do something, but I felt unable to move in any direction. Tom never spoke of being unhappy, because he knew how much our time with each other meant to me. He could see I was suffering, but he also knew that it was me that had to make the change. He wanted us to be public, for the world to know, but my choice had been different, and he respected that, as much as he regretted it.

As the end of _Coriolanus_ loomed and Tom’s departure for Canada to film _Crimson Peak_ got closer, I made my decision. I had to stop torturing him and let him go. I loved him so much, too much to keep him tethered to me. It was slowly killing us both.  I went to see the play one more time, the night of the NTLive broadcast. I sobbed quietly when Caius Martius said goodbye to his family; I knew what was to come for us.

The day after the party to celebrate the end of the run I steeled myself to tell him. I hadn’t slept for three nights; my face was a mask of exhaustion to rival Tom’s. I felt numb, the way I had the day my mother died. This was to be another sort of bereavement, I suppose; the loss of someone deeply precious to me. Tom went out for his run in Regent’s Park early as usual. I was so tense I vomited while he was gone. I felt like death, and looked like it too. When I heard his key in the door I almost lost control and cried, even before I had said anything. I was a mess, and even my polite and charming lover felt moved to comment.

‘Are you ill, Mandy? You look terrible this morning.’

‘Not ill, no. We need to talk, Tom.’

His face fell. He knew something bad was coming.

‘Can I have a coffee first?’ I nodded. ‘Do you want one?’

I shook my head. I had gone off coffee lately; I could barely stand the smell of it. I pointed to the glass of water by my elbow.

‘OK. I won’t be a moment.’

These weren’t really delaying tactics on his part. He just wanted the atmosphere to lighten a little, I think. It was very tense in the room. He returned a couple of minutes later with a steaming mug and a slice of toast. He sat down at the table, across the room from where I was sitting. I felt nauseous looking at his food but I began to speak.

‘This isn’t easy for me, Tom. I love you very much, but I think we both know we can’t continue like this, it’s not doing either of us any good.’

‘I agree. I want things to change. This is wrong. We are both miserable.’

I was shocked. He hadn’t said anything to me, and although I had kept my own counsel as well, I expected him to be more open, for some reason. I regrouped. The facts hadn’t changed, and this still had to be done.

‘When all that trouble with Michael happened, I chose my career over being in a public relationship with you. That was an error. This secrecy has just made us both unhappy…’

‘Yes! Yes it has!’ he interrupted me, ‘I want that to change, Mandy. Today.’

Again, he had surprised me. This wasn’t how I had envisaged this conversation going at all.

‘What do you mean Tom?’

He put his coffee mug down and walked over to where I was sitting. He sat down next to me on the sofa and took my hands in his, the way he had in the park all that time ago.

‘I told you once that I would never lie to you. But I have, in a way. I let you think I was happy with this, but I never was. I want the world to know how much I love you. I’m sick of pretending to be the flirty single guy. I want everyone to see that I am yours.’

He leaned in to kiss me, but I pushed him away. A fresh wave of nausea was rising up and I jumped off the seat and ran for the bathroom, reaching it just in time. A few minutes later he tapped softly on the door.

‘Is everything alright, darling?’

I opened the door and came out. My reflection had been paler than ever and I still hadn’t told him. I felt weaker and shakier too. I wasn’t sure I could do this anymore. I went back to my seat, and Tom joined me. I remembered what I had rehearsed in my head: _I love you very much, but you need to be without me. You deserve a better life than I can give you…_

Before I had the chance to open my mouth, Tom spoke again.

‘I’m pretty sure you are planning to break up with me today, but I want you to consider another course of action.’

The man never ceased to amaze me. I blinked up at his face, which was serious and thoughtful, tears brimming in his bright blue eyes.

‘Marry me.’


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy considers her options.

I woke up with a start, feeling very disorientated and with a nasty taste in my mouth. When I looked at Tom’s alarm clock I was horrified to see it said 4pm; I had slept most of the day away. I felt as if I had a horrible hangover, despite not having drunk any alcohol for days. Tom had put a glass of water by the bed and I downed the lot. Then I remembered.

He had asked me to marry him. Just as I was about to break up with him. Just before I was sick again and nearly passed out.

I sat up and my head felt as though it had been beaten with a large stick. What the hell was wrong with me? I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I had to find Tom and apologise. And explain why I had to say no. He must have heard me stirring because he walked in at that moment, his face a picture of concern.

‘How are you feeling? I just let you sleep; you looked like you needed it.’

‘Well, I don’t feel sick any more but I think I must be dehydrated. I feel hung-over.’

He sat down next to me and rubbed my back. Then he kissed my temple. I stood up quickly, which was a mistake as everything went a bit grey for a moment. I teetered but managed to stay upright. Tom reached for my hand but I jerked it away.

‘I really need to clean my teeth,’ I said and made a dash for the bathroom.

Tom had cleaned up the mess I’d made, bless him. I stood over the sink and looked at my whiter-shade-of-pale reflection as I brushed my teeth. There were big dark shadows under my eyes, which were bloodshot and red-rimmed. _Well Trev,_ I thought, _I look shittier than ever now._

‘What a stunner,’ I muttered as I dried my face and gathered myself. We still needed to finish our conversation from earlier and I had no idea what to say to him. He had caught me totally unawares; it wasn’t a question I was even a bit prepared for. I had been about to say that we should split up, for goodness sake!

When I emerged he was in the kitchen; I could hear the kettle boiling.

‘Tea?’ he called.

‘Please!’

He came in a few minutes later. I was standing by the window looking out. I loved that view, over some fences to a school playground. There were brightly-coloured shapes and a hop-scotch court painted on the ground as well as play equipment everywhere. It was deserted today as it was the weekend, but I adored it when it was full of children, running and standing around and jumping and swinging. I tried to memorise it, as I didn’t expect to be back there anytime soon. I heard Tom put the tray down and he came and embraced me from behind. I stiffened. I wished he wouldn’t; it was just making it harder.

‘Please don’t. Just listen, Tom.’ I turned to look at him. His face broke my heart.

‘No. You listen to me.’ I could see he was struggling to contain his emotions. He took my face in his hands and held it firmly. I started to protest.

 ‘Ssshh. I know you think breaking up is the best thing to do, but it doesn’t have to be. I want you to listen to what I have to say, and then I want you to think about it for a while. Please. You owe me that, after three years, surely. A little bit more time.’

I nodded, and he took me by the hand and sat me down on the sofa. He fetched the tea and offered me a plain biscuit. I looked at him quizzically. These were not the usual type he kept in; he must have gone out and bought them especially for the invalid. I took one, as my stomach was rumbling. I doubted there was much left in my system, judging by what happened earlier.

He sat next to me and sipped his tea for a moment. Then he put it on the low table next to him and took my hand again.

‘I love you Mandy. Very much. Do you still love me?’

‘With all my heart.’

‘Then why is breaking up a good idea?’

I opened my mouth to speak but I stilled me with a raised finger.

‘Please. That was rhetorical.’ I smiled. Here was my Tom. I’d missed him. ‘There will be a few rhetorical questions. I will let you know when I need you to answer. Now, as I see it, the problem we have, what is making us both so unhappy is the secrecy. But that isn’t unassailable is it? I mean, it was a choice we made, or rather one you made after your stalker boy went postal. But it just isn’t working anymore is it?’

He stood up and walked over to the window, then turned around and looked at me.

‘I blame myself. I was unhappy from day one, and I have let it go on far too long. I was never comfortable with not telling the world. Fuck, I want to shout it from the rooftops! I love you Mandy!’

He ran his fingers through his hair, as he often did when he was a bit stressed or anxious. I was struggling to concentrate on what he was saying. I felt woozy and he was so beautiful I just wanted to look at him. Maybe for the last time. I felt tears pricking my eyes.

‘I know you want to keep your job, but is it really worth this? Is it worth the end of us?’ His jaw tightened, and I could see he was fighting his emotions again. ‘I hate asking you to choose, but that’s what it’s come down to. And I am asking you, begging you to choose me.’

He looked at me, that desperation back in his eyes. I was crying openly now, the tears pouring down my cheeks. He came over and sat next to me, pulling me to him and kissing me softly. I allowed him to bring me into his chest and I sobbed into his sweater. I couldn’t think, I could only feel the pain.

We stayed like that for ages. I don’t know how long, but my tea was stone cold when I tried to drink it after we finally parted.

‘So, will you at least think about it?’

I nodded. He was right, I owed him that.

‘Do you think you could manage to eat something, darling? You look as if you need to.’

I thought. The near-fainting was probably a result of no food, and yes, I did feel hungry. So I allowed Tom to cook me an omelette and we ate together. We didn’t say much, and I could feel his eyes on me. I tried to think but my mind was a confused muddle of conflicting emotions. I began to sense that I wasn’t going to be able to make this big decision quickly, no matter how much he needed me to.

I finished the food and pushed my empty plate away. I was supposed to be heading back to Colchester that evening, but I wasn’t sure I was up to the journey, or indeed work the next day.

‘Can I stay here tonight? I think I’m going to call in sick tomorrow.’

‘Of course. I wasn’t going to let you travel in this state anyway.’

I was still very tired despite my long sleep, and I found myself dropping off on the sofa quite early, even with all that was happening. I felt Tom lifting me up and carrying me to the bedroom. I let him; I seemed to lack the energy or the will to fight it. After undressing me and tucking me under the covers he kissed me on the forehead.

‘I love you, Mandy,’ he whispered. ‘Marry me.’

I woke early the next day, Monday, and again I felt sick, but not as much as the day before. Tom was snoring softly bedside me so I slipped out and went down to the kitchen. A glass of water and one of those dry biscuits seemed to help. I felt up to a cup of tea, and once it was made I took it up to look out of the window again. I had my phone in my hand and I rang and left Rachel a message. I told her I would be in the next day. Then I rang Megan to explain. She had Bertie, but she was fine with it, especially when I told her I had been sick. She has a phobia so did not want to catch it if it was infectious – whatever it was.

Duty done, I tried to turn my mind to what Tom had asked me to consider. Stupidly, it was the one thing I had not thought through, because keeping my career had been a given as far as I was concerned. The new day had brought some clarity of thought with it, thank goodness. As far as I could see there were four options now open to me. The first was to continue down the path I had already decided on, and split up with Tom. In the light of this new morning, I no longer wanted to do that. I had not expected him to fight for me so hard. I had thought he was so miserable that he would be as eager as I was simply to end it.

It dawned on me that I wanted to say yes to his proposal, more than anything, but that still wasn’t all I had to consider. If we did ‘come out’ as a couple and whether we married or not, I had to decide what to do about my work. I could try to carry on, but that would require a lot of good will on the part of the College and the senior staff, whose patience I had been trying a great deal recently. I could give it up completely; become a celebrity wife, a kept woman. I didn’t like that idea one little bit. The other, scarier but possibly most viable option was for me to find a different job. One I could do in conjunction with Tom’s career and celebrity status. But what?

Tom came into the room, rubbing his neck. I smiled at him, and I saw hope leap across his face. I put my tea mug down on the windowsill and opened my arms to him. With two strides he was in my arms, sobs racking his body.

‘I choose you, Tom’ I told him, as if he hadn’t already guessed.

He scooped me up and carried me back to the bedroom.  Once I was on the bed he stretched out beside me. His lips ghosted over mine, and he began to leave feather-like kisses all over my face. I caressed his tear-stained cheek, allowing my hand to work its way into his hair as he began to go lower, kissing my neck and down to my collarbone. I arched my back as his hand slipped inside my robe. We hadn’t been intimate much recently, and I missed it so much. His mouth reached my breasts and he moaned as he pulled on a nipple. I reached down and pushed his boxers off his hips. He was pulling my robe off and then he was inside me. I never needed him more than that morning. I had come so close to pushing him away, I had to make him mine again and for ever. He took his time and so did I. We came together, and stayed joined as he softened inside me, kissing and laughing and caressing.

Monday was much more pleasant than Sunday. I still felt a little off, and I hoped I hadn’t passed a virus or anything onto Tom as he was due to fly to Canada in a few days. We talked through my options and he was excited by the idea that I might try a new job.

‘You could write, you know.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘It’s not daft. You could.’

‘Write what? I haven’t written anything apart from comments on students’ essays in years.’

‘Whatever you put your mind to, Mandy. Novels, poetry. You could be a journalist. Sarah has contacts, so do I come to that.’

‘Oh no, no, no.’ I was wagging a finger at him. ‘If I were to do that, I would not do it on the back of favours or string-pulling. It would have to be on my own merit.’

I meant it. I had got everything in my life by my own hard work. Nothing had ever been handed to me, apart from Dotty’s inheritance, and even that was something I had earned, in a way. I pondered what he had said. I certainly thought I might be able to work at a publishers doing editing or something. Even proof-reading. It was an idea. It could be done from home; I could even take it on the road if necessary. I began to get excited.

‘I’m going to ring Luke,’ said Tom. ‘We need to decide how to handle this.’

‘Tell him by all means, but I must let my employers know first. I have to give two terms’ notice, you know.’


	18. Eighteen & Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy finds out why she's been feeling unwell. She and Tom start their life together.

Two weeks later the die had been cast. Alan accepted my resignation and agreed I could leave at the end of the summer term, slightly sooner than I expected.  We didn’t make any announcement, but I did accompany Tom to the airport to see him off to Toronto. I already had my ticket to join him for most of half-term; Megan and Petra were being very good about having Bertie. Pictures of Tom and me together began to appear on the internet and then in the gossip magazines. Luke handled it all with his usual aplomb, simply telling the truth: we had been together for some time and now we were engaged. I avoided the net and the press, and the fans we did encounter in Canada were very nice.

I returned in time for the second half of the spring term to a flurry of excitement at College. It died down, but I still wasn’t feeling right. One lunchtime I asked Maggie the nurse for a chat about it.

‘Come and see me when you are free,’ she told me and I popped into her room later that afternoon. When I told her how I had been feeling she grinned at me.

‘Have you done the obvious?’ she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘The obvious?’ I had no idea what she meant.

She stood up, opened a cupboard on the wall and handed me a packet. It was a pregnancy test.

‘But I’ve got a…  Ah SHIIIIT!’

In the midst of my funk I had missed the appointment to have my implant replaced. It was months ago. Suddenly it all made sense. God, no wonder I nearly made such a catastrophic mistake: hormones! We did the test there and then. I had no idea how far along I might be, it could be months.

It was positive.

I had finished teaching for the day so I went straight home. Bertie was the first person I told. He needed to know, after all. He looked up at me with his beautiful golden eyes. He was fine with it.

I had to wait until late to tell Tom. I texted him to call me as soon as he could talk, but it was almost 11 before my phone rang. I would have preferred to tell him face to face, but he wasn’t due back for ages.

‘What’s so urgent, darling? Is something wrong?’

I didn’t see any point in being coy. ‘Well, that depends on how you feel about being a dad.’ There was silence on the other end of the line.

‘Tom? You there?’

‘Yes…’his voice was faint. He sounded stunned. ‘How?’

‘The usual way,’ I teased, ‘No, it’s my fault, I fucked up my contraception. Sorry.’

‘Sorry? SORRY?! This is bloody, fucking, god, I don’t know what, WONDERFUL!’

I breathed out a sigh. When he had started shouting I had been afraid he was angry.

‘That settles it, I’m coming back for the Oliviers. I have to see you. Hang on, is that why you were so sick that time?’

‘Possibly. I’m going to have a scan because I don’t know when the implant stopped working,’

‘Oh darling, I love you! This is wonderful! Oh god, I want to tell everyone! Can I?’

‘Can you wait until I have had the scan? Then we will know when I’m due and so on.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He sounded sulky; I could almost hear the pout. ‘Please can I tell my mum, though, she’ll be so happy?’

‘Yes, alright. You can tell your mum.’

…………………………………………………………………………

And so dear reader, here I am, sitting in my future mother-in-law’s kitchen hulling strawberries from her garden. Diana is opposite me, on the other side of the big table, humming softly to herself as she shells broad beans for supper. Through the open door I can hear the sound of Tom running lines in the garden, his voice getting louder and then quieter again as he walks around. It is a perfect English summer’s day. From where I sit I can hear the birds tweeting and see roses and delphiniums and the tips of the soft mauve blooms of the wisteria which covers the back wall of the house. Bert is by my feet under the table, lying in a patch of sun. Every now and again I tickle his tummy with my bare foot.

The baby is due in early September, on the fourth anniversary of the day Tom and I first met, just less than three months from now. That wonderful day when my darling Bertie chased him up the beach towards Thorpeness. We haven’t set a date for the wedding yet, but it will probably be in March, on or near that other anniversary.

I expect you are wondering about my job. Well my notice runs out at the end of term in three weeks’ time. The exams are nearly over and the returning students have already begun their second year courses. I will miss teaching, my students, the College, and my friends, but I am embarking on a new life; something always has to be left behind. At the other end of the table is my laptop, and on it is the research I have started. You see, I have decided to write a book about my darling Great Aunt Dotty. She was extraordinary, a ground-breaker for women in her field and I owe all of this to her. I have no idea whether the book will be any good, or if anyone will want to read it, but I will give it my best shot.

Just occasionally, in the middle of the night I wake in a cold sweat, remembering how close I came to throwing all this away. I nearly drove away the only man I have ever loved or could ever love. Because I forgot – for a while - to listen to what wise, clever Dotty told me once: that I should never give up on love because, in the end, the heart wants what the heart wants.


End file.
